Walk in my shoes
by SSC
Summary: Harry Potter is stuck in the body of our favorite Dark Lord. Voldemort becomes the BoyWhoLived. Will they manage to live eachother's lives until a solution is found? Ignores HBP.
1. Prologue: be careful what you wish for

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all. The chapter titles are from 'Walking in my shoes' of Depeche Mode. I ignore HBP

**Walk in my shoes**

**Prologue: My intentions couldn't have been purer**

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. The sole survivor of the Killing Curse, ever. The boy who was prophesized to either kill the Dark Lord or die at his hand.

That boy was severely pissed off.

At the end of his fifth year he heard of that prophecy, right after his godfather died. Dumbledore couldn't pick a better time, could he?

After destroying half the Headmaster's office, and spending the next few days –okay, weeks, actually - in a seething rage, Harry Potter had finally managed to calm down and see things straight.

Something he hadn't done for a whole year, to be honest.

His Godfather was dead. Fell behind the Veil. It had taken almost two months before he accepted that, and stopped crying. There was nothing he could do for Sirius anymore. Life goes on, as harsh as that sounds.

The prophecy was disturbing, but he found he didn't really care for it anymore. What's coming will come, as Hagrid once said. If it's prophesized or not.

The letters from his friends were as short and empty as the year before. Hermione had written about her vacation in Greece, with a small paragraph at the end saying she and Ron were at Grimmauld Place again. Harry expected the Order members to fetch him anyday now, seeing as the summer holidays were nearly over.

The Daily Prophet offered no news either. Only horror stories about Voldemort's first reign, but nothing recent.

The Dursleys, who had been scared by the Order members, but even more scared by the events of the last summer, kept Harry locked in the house. Uncle Vernon made a point of checking the letters Harry had to send every three days, to make sure there weren't any complaints that would urge the 'freaks' to come to Privet Drive. Harry himself doubted the Order would mind his lack of freedom. They'd probably think it was a good thing; if he didn't leave the house, he couldn't get into trouble.

But, neither of these things was the reason Harry was so angry right now.

His scar was the problem.

He was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, a hand firmly clasping his forehead. His scar felt as if someone was trying to burn a hole in his scull. The nightly pain made up for Voldemort's apparent non-activity. He hadn't had any dreams lately, but no day went by without a flash of pain in his scar.

That night it was even worse than usual. The pain was enough to make a sane man go mad, and Harry already had some doubts about the 'sane' part.

He turned on his side, so he could see through the window. Stars were flickering. A full moon stood regally in the sky, surrounded by drifting clouds.

The moon reminded him of Remus. Poor Remus. The last true Marauder. Harry wondered how he was holding up, after Sirius...

Another wave of pain coursed through his head. He mumbled a curse. Oh, how he wished Voldemort would feel this, instead of him! _He_ deserved it! If only...

A star fell gracefully into the night.

:-:

After a while, the pain receded, and Harry slept.


	2. If you try walking in my shoes

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all.

**Walk in my shoes (1)**

**If you try walking in my shoes**

Harry turned on his other side when the sunlight touched his face. He smiled sleepily. His bed was so soft, he didn't want to get up already. But he expected any moment to hear Aunt Petunia's voice screeching at him to make breakfast.

Strange, now he thought about it. If the sunlight already reached his bed, shouldn't Aunt Petunia have come already?

Perhaps she overslept today. It was nice, getting a chance to sleep late for once.

He almost dozed off again, but other needs made themselves known. He really needed to use the loo. Damn. That meant he had to get up.

He swung his legs out of bed. His nightshirt kept his legs protected from the icy cold that now invaded his feet. Nightshirt? Weird. He would have sworn he only had his boxers on when he fell asleep last night...

Still half asleep and with his eyes partly closed he made his way to the door of his room.

Only, there was no door.

And someone had put thick carpet on the wooden floor.

Huh?

Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to get awake enough to make some sense of all this.

A pair of fiery red eyes with slitted pupils stared back at him.

Voldemort! Harry yelped, and stepped back, all thoughts of going to the loo forgotten. Voldemort moved away too. He looked as shocked as Harry felt.

Wait. _Shocked?_ Why would _he_ be shocked? And why wasn't he yelling 'Avada Kedavra', now Harry was defenceless?

Harry blinked. Voldemort blinked back.

Voldemort hadn't said a word, and neither had Harry. Curious despite the danger, Harry leaned a bit forward. There seemed to be something off with Voldemort... And he could see everything clearly! Had he left his glasses on, perhaps?

He searched his face for his glasses. Voldemort touched his temple too.

Harry got annoyed. Was this some kind of twisted game, the constant imitating of Harry's movements?

'Enough of this,' he yelled angrily. The hissing voice that came from his mouth wasn't his own. He recognised it, alright!

Harry backed away even more – Voldemort did the same.

He was now completely awake, enough to see that what he thought Voldemort to be was nothing more than a man-sized mirror.

A mirror!

But- that meant-

No.

It _couldn't_. It just wasn't possible.

But the _mirror_...

And 'Voldemort' making _exactly_ the same movements as he did...

He looked down at his hands. No, _his_ hands. Long-fingered, spidery hands, so pale that fresh snow would seem muddy compared to them.

Harry glanced around the room. Rich drapings, thick red carpet, a huge bed... A bedroom he did not recognise.

He looked back into the mirror. Voldemort stared back, equally shook.

He had no choice but to face the facts.

He was in the body of his parent's murderer. This was not exactly how he imagined his Summer holidays to be.

Well, if he wasn't mad already, this should do the trick.

Oo0oo

Lord Voldemort was not a happy man.

It was not every day he woke up as a 16 year old boy.

That this boy happened to be _Harry Potter_ just made things worse.

Even though he was an expert in possession and the like, he had no idea how the boy had managed this. Yes, they shared a connection, one he had used the previous schoolyear to lure the boy to the Departement of Mysteries.

But something like this? A complete bodyswitch?

Ridiculous.

It had been a huge shock when he woke to the sound of a woman screaming he should make breakfast.

In his near dozing state he had grabbed his wand to cast the Cruciatus on her, only to find his wand was not where it should be. Nowhere in sight, actually. And he was in a small bedroom filled with broken toys. Only dressed in boxers. Which was quite cold, now the woman had yanked the sheets off him.

Even Dark Lords aren't at their best when they just wake up. So he had let the woman drag him from the bed, out of the room, and push him into another.

'Wash up and comb your hair! Diddykins needs his breakfast!' she snapped at him, before closing the door loudly.

Lord Voldemort stumbled into what seemed to be the bathroom.

The nerve of that woman! When he got his wand back he would-

He glared at the mirror.

And that's when he realised what had happened.

Now he was cursing Potter's lack of predictability. He had gone to Potter's room immediately after he realised what was going on, and put on those ridiculous oversized Muggle clothes. Then he proceeded to search _everything_ in the room for a hidden wand.

Of course, Potter just couldn't keep his wand under his pillow, like everyone else did, could he? The annoying, bloody brat –

At the thought, a surge of pain seared through the lightning bolt scar. Voldemort spat out a curse, sneering at the sound of Harry's voice.

Without a wand, he could do nothing. He didn't even have access to a Death Eater's Mark, otherwise he could have called his followers and explained this rather unique situation. Perhaps he would even be taken to his own body – but that would be inhabited by Potter now. The Death Eaters wouldn't know what to think.

Perhaps he'd better _not_ risk it. Not before he found a way to reverse what Potter had done, anyway. He doubted this body was as protected against the Cruciatus Curse as his own.

A fat man with a moustache barged into the room and dragged him downstairs before he could react, grumbling things about 'no respect,' and 'You _will_ help your aunt, boy.'

The ugly woman pushed a frying pan into his hands the moment he was pushed into the kitchen. 'Don't just stand there, work!'

The fat man let him go, and the woman snapped orders on how to fry her 'precious Diddydums'' eggs. To be honest, Lord Voldemort was feeling a lot like frying 'Diddydums' himself. He had killed others for lesser insults than this.

But without a wand, there was not much he could do. He comtemplated using a knife, but that would just scrape her bony chest, he thought sourly. And it would get lost in all the blubbery fat of the man. What a pity.

When 'Diddydums' entered the room and sat down, the chair sagged beneath his weight. Voldemort supposed this was the fat man's son; apart from the odd muscle or two, they really looked alike.

So, this were Potter's relatives. How interesting.

He was yanked out of his thoughts by an angry bark from the man. 'Stop staring and work, or no food for you today, boy!'

If only he had his wand... Or any wand, for that matter. But neither of Potter's relatives had one, he saw. _Muggles_. The hatred rose up again, followed by a wave of pain in the scar.

Blast! He couldn't even feel what he wanted! Oh, how he _despised_-

'Boy! I'm not saying it again!'

Voldemort bit back a curse.

The most feared Dark Lord ever, the one most wizards and witches didn't even dare to call by name, was cooking breakfast for two pig-like Muggles.

This was wrong in _so_ many ways.

Oo0oo

Harry had been sitting on the bed for quite some time, pondering his lack of luck and the way Fate seemed to hate him. Why did it always have to be him? Which god did he anger this time? It wasn't fair! And – oh, Merlin. If he was in Voldemort's body, that meant – Voldemort was in his! It had to be reversed, as soon as possible! What if he killed the Dursleys? They were still family after all… No, Voldemort wouldn't do that, it would make every Order member more than little suspicious. He might even be condamned to a lifetime in Azkaban. That wouldn't give Harry much incentive to try and reverse this weird body-switch…

Perhaps Voldemort even planned all this! He was certainly evil enough for it… To switch bodies, commit crimes in his body, and then switch again, so Harry would be left with the blame.

No, that would just not do. Harry had to find a solution, and fast. In the meantime he should try to find out more about the Death Eaters and Voldemort's plans… It was what Voldemort would be doing, if he didn't know how to reverse the body-switch himself. Merlin, he would find out everything about the Order of the Phoenix! Harry had to find a solution, and fast!

But first he had to find the loo. Because seriously, even a 16-year-old in the body of a Dark Lord needs to pee sometimes.

He opened the door and peered into the halway. The same thick red carpet covered the floor. Expensive looking silver chandeliers lightened the way, because there weren't any windows. There was nobody in sight.

Quickly Harry darted to a door across the bedroom. The bathroom had to be somewhere close, right?

Damn, the door was locked. Harry kicked it angrily, his eyes on the snake that adorned the door-handle. :'Open, you stupid door!':

The words came out in Parseltongue, which Harry recognized as such because it made Voldemort's voice lisp even more. And to Harry's surprise, the door clicked open to reveal the pale green tiles of a big bathroom.

What kind of guy had a password in Parseltongue on his bathroom? A bathroom only he himself used, Harry supposed. And to add to that; who would _want_ to see Voldemort in the bathroom? Naked?

Oh, no. He just realized... He was going to see a very intimate part of Voldemort, if he planned on going to the loo. And even more if he wanted to use that huge, grey and green colored bathtub.

It's not like he had a choice. Who knew how much time it would take to find a way to reverse this all? He couldn't hold his pee forever, could he?

_After this, I'll ask Dumbledore to Obliviate me,_ Harry promised himself, while pulling off the nightshirt. He caught a glimpse of his image in the mirror. Tall, pale and skinny.

Quickly he averted his eyes and concentrated on the loo. He mustered up his Gryffindor courage and let the last of Voldemort's underwear slide down to his knees. Okay, nearly there.

If he wasn't completely traumatized after this whole ordeal, he'd eat the Sorting Hat.

:-:

Afterwards he persuaded himself to take a quick bath, in which he got more acquainted with Voldemort's body than he ever wished to be. Though he had to admit, those black robes were not very complimentary for these firm buttocks… Euch, he did _not_ just think that.

Even evil people brush their teeth, apparently. (Except when they're called Snape, that is.) Harry put a generous amount of _Madame Morvilla's Minty Freshness _on the green toothbrush, and started scrubbing. After rinsing his mouth he looked into the mirror above the sink, and stuck out Voldemort's tongue. And tried to smile like Lockhart. And put on the Dumbledorish- smile, offering himself a lemon drop.

Now, this was _fun_.

:-:

After pulling weird faces for some time, he concentrated on Voldemort himself. Every Dark Lord had a maniacal cackle, or an Evil Laugh, didn't they?

Harry decided to try and imitate it. He would need his acting skills, after all, if this took a few days. There should be at least one Death Eater here, shouldn't there? It would be a little odd if they saw their Dark Lord acting like a 16-year-old.

So, Harry tried to laugh evilly.

He would've never expected Voldemort to produce a noise as silly as this. It sounded like a squirrel being flattened by a heavy truck. At least, if said squirrel tried to sound evil. Not very succesful, really.

This was harder than he'd thought at first. For some reason, he couldn't picture a young Tom Riddle practising his Evil Laugh in the mirror.

Perhaps evil people were born with it?

He needed to practise. And he should wipe that weird frown from Voldemort's face; it didn't look Dark Lord-ish at all.

oo0oo

After cooking breakfast, doing the dishes, and mowing the lawn, Voldemort was currently busy with trying to fix the new swimming pool Vernon Dursley had bought. Dudley had immediately succeeded in making some holes in it – how that stupid Muggle managed to destroy everything he got his hands on, Voldemort did not know, but the whale-lookalike had a gift for destruction even Voldemort couldn't equal.

Neither the swimming pool nor the Duck tape co-operated, to Voldemort's anger. He couldn't believe he was actually obeying these Muggles... Ah, well, he couldn't contact his Death Eaters without risking his life – especially now he'd given them the permission to kill Potter if they could do it 'quietly'. He wouldn't have the chance to say 'Quidditch' before he'd be the unlucky recipient of a Killing Curse. Again. And all thanks to that annoying, bloody, stupid brat named Harry-

The famous scar burned. Voldemort fumed. He couldn't even _think_ what he wanted anymore...

The whale-lookalike was waddling to the still unfixed swimming pool.

'Hey, freak, aren't you done yet? Dad says you've got to hurry, or you won't get any dinner.'

That Muggle was almost as stuck up as Lucius' brat. He actually seemed to think he could just order around Voldemort, Heir of Slytherin, the most powerful wizard ever!

Although this body did not have the same numerous protections and enchantments on it. And he didn't have a wand.

_...you won't get any dinner..._

The mention of not getting any food made nasty memories of a certain orphanage resurface. Voldemort unconciously strenghtened his grip on the Duck Tape.

'Stop staring at me! I'll tell dad you're doing that_- that thing_ again! Stop it!' The voice became whiny, and more than a little scared.

For a split second Voldemort wondered what Harry Potter had done to his relatives, to make them so scared of magic.

Then an idea presented itself in Voldemort's mind.

He did not have a wand...

...but he did have Duck Tape.

Time to show 'Ickle Diddykins' some of the magic of Egypt.

:-:

Voldemort used the last of the Duck Tape to fix the swimming pool. He glanced at the garden shed, inwardly smiling. 'Dudders' sure made a fine mummy. Ah, he was looking forward to the screams when they removed the tape.

Yes, he could feel an evil laugh coming up.

He was enjoying himself in the warmth of the sun, thinking about his small revenge, when something big took his sunlight away. He looked up. The other male Muggle was looming above him.

'Why aren't you busy working, boy?'

Voldemort glared. 'I did everything on that list. I'm done.'

'Don't you dare take that tone with me, boy! Now go inside and help your Aunt with moping the floor.'

How did Potter manage to spend two months like this, without Crucio-ing those Muggles? Voldemort pondered this while he went inside. Behind him, he could hear a scream from the fat Muggle.

Ah, he had noticed his son. Nice.

**Oo0oo**

After his struggles in the bathroom, Harry went back to the bedroom, to find some clothes. He doubted Voldemort walked around in his nightshirt all the time.

The wardrobe was easy to find, and again, opened with a Parseltongue-command. Harry searched through the robes.

Black, black, black, green, black, black, green, black, white, black, black, pink, bl-

Wait. Pink? The white Harry could accept, it was probably for rituals or something. But pink?

_Okay... Let's just take a black one,_ Harry thought. _Pink clashes horribly with those red eyes._

:-:

After dressing Harry decided to go find some breakfast. He'd have to be careful, of course, who knew how many Death Eaters lived here. Probably all the escapee's from Azkaban.

Bellatrix... The red eyes narrowed. How he hated that b-

_Calm down,_ he ordered himself. He had something better to do than stand fuming in this hallway. Eating, per example.

Now, there was only one slight problem if he wanted to have breakfast.

Where was the kitchen?

:-:

The numerous serpentine decorations were starting to get on his nerves. Speaking about cliché... What was this place, by the way? Last time Voldemort had been hiding in his father's abandoned house. And this was everything but abandoned. It was fancy and richly decorated. Perhaps Malfoy Manor? Please not!

The house was a maze, and many doors were parseltongue-locked. There couldn't be many Death Eaters living here, then.

Harry had been searching for hours. He figured the door to the kitchen wouldn't be locked, so his search was slightly easier than if he had to look behind every single door.

It was pure luck that he stumbled into a hall of some kind. Ah, there was a door leading outside! The light streaming through the windows indicated it was almost noon.

Great. Time for lunch.

The doors in the hall weren't locked. One of them gave way to a stairway, another one to a huge dining room. And – yes! The kitchen!

He closed the door silently behind him, and realised he wasn't alone.

Wormtail was sitting at the table, his back to the door. He was eating gluttonously, spilling almost as much as he put into his mouth. _No table manners at all_, Harry mused. _Well, he did live as a rat for twelve years._

He stared at his parent's betrayer, not sure how to classify his feelings. If not for this man, Sirius would have been a free man. He himself probably wouldn't have had to live with the Dursleys. His parents could even be alive...

He noticed he had pulled out Voldemort's wand – he'd found it strapped against his upper leg in a wand holster – and pointed it to Wormtail. The rat wasn't aware of any danger.

Two little words... That was all it took...

_No!_

Like Dumbledore said, in the Departement of Mysteries; "killing you would not satify me". There were worse things than death. And being the human House Elf of the Darkest Wizard after Grindelwald was pretty bad. Harry did not think Voldemort was nice to the little rat.

'Reducto,' he intoned calmly, blasting Wormtail out of his chair. The rat yelped, and looked wildly around. Harry caught his eyes with Voldemort's, and smiled nastily. He knew Wormtail was more than a little scared of his 'Master'. Harry couldn't help it; the frightful eyes amused him. What an opportunity… He could do whatever he wanted with Wormtail, and no one would dare to object.

'Good morning, rat.'

Wormtail crawled towards him and kissed the hem of his robes. 'G-good m-morning, my Lord.'

Harry looked down on him. 'Leave. And do not disturb me today.'

Wormtail started stuttering again, sounding confused. 'M-my Lord, i-is the meeting this evening c-canceled?'

Harry frowned inwardly. Meeting? Oh, no. His acting wasn't good enough to face all the Death Eaters! But it would seem strange if he didn't call a meeting once in a while, wouldn't it?

Damn. What to do?

'No, it isn't.' Harry glared at the rat's trembling form. 'Now leave.'

Wormtail, confused but grateful that he escaped without his morning dose of the Cruciatus, shuffled so hurriedly out of the room that he almost tripped over his own feet. Behind him, Harry rolled his eyes.

He sighted, and glanced at the table. _Let's eat._

oo0oo

Vernon Dursley was everything but pleased to find his son rolled up like a mummy. That Muggle had no respect for other cultures, Voldemort thought. The screams from the fat man and skinny woman were quite entertaining.

'_Dudley! _Dudley!'

'_Vernon, what's this – oh god, Duddikins! Get it off, Vernon, get it off, he can't breathe, get it off!'_

'_I'm trying!'_

Followed with:

'_POTTER! YOU did this, you ungrateful freak!'_

Too bad he didn't get to watch them try and get the Duck Tape off. He'd been grabbed by the yelling Uncle and pushed into a small cupboard beneath the stairs.

Imagine his surprise when he found Potter's trunk there.

A little creativity with a hair pin that lay on one of the shelves got the trunk open. A few books, robes, some potions ingredients, a small couldron, ...

But no wand.

Damnit! Where _did_ the brat keep it?

Dudley's screams were _very _amusing. The boy was in no danger of dying – he could breathe through his fat nose – but he sounded like a pig being flayed alive. How very nice.

Not nearly as satifying as a nice _Crucio_ would be, though.

Voldemort touched the bruises on his arm, where Vernon had grabbed him. This was unacceptable. No one manhandled him, the Heir of Slytherin! Potter might let those Muggles do as they did, but Voldemort had revenge in mind. He had potion ingredients, and a cauldron. Time to play.

It couldn't be anything _too_ illegal, of course. At least not if he planned on fooling the Order of the Phoenix. And he didn't fancy being stuck in Azkaban, in Potter's body.

He found a small plastic bottle of water on one of the shelves. Silently he poured it into the couldron. He knew of a nice potion that had to be brewed cold... It was just _perfect._

So Voldemort brewed, while Dudley screamed.

Oo0oo


	3. You’ll stumble in my footsteps

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all.

**Walk in my shoes (2)**

**2. You'll stumble in my footsteps**

It had to be Slytherin's Castle. Or at least something like that, because no sane man would put Parseltongue-locks and sculptured snakes _everywhere_. Though, Voldemort wasn't sane either. And Harry was starting to get some doubts about his own sanity. He couldn't help but think how useful the locks could be. He'd have to figure out how they were cast... The idea had its merits.

He'd left the kitchen behind him some hours ago. This castle was _huge_. He was searching for Voldemort's library, but there were so many doors – and some walls pretending to be doors, like in Hogwarts. Most of them were Parseltongue-locked, except in the wing he'd just left behind. There were the rooms of the Azkaban escapees, Harry guessed, because he'd seen a man he recognized from the _Daily Prophet_ last year. The man had kneeled and wished him a good morning. Harry'd ignored him, just walking past.

He'd left the part of the castle where the Death Eaters seemed to live, but now he was regretting that. He still hadn't found anything even remotely like a library, perhaps it was located there? No, Voldemort wouldn't want his followers to know too much... Right?

He had peeked behind many doors. Empty broom closets, rooms filled with shelves with potions ingredients, a huge room with carvings on the floor and an altar in the middle of it, a door that appeared to lead into the dungeons, but no library... He frowned, annoyed. It had to be _somewhere_!

:'Master, what displeases you?':

Harry's frown was replaced by a startled look. He hadn't noticed the large snake coiled up in the middle of the hallway.

Oh, no... How well did Nagini know Voldemort?

Harry tried to wipe his insecurity from his face, and hissed. :'I'm well, Nagini.':

If snakes could frown, she would have done exactly that. :'You seem to be searching for something, Master?':

:'Me? No, of course not. I'll be going now.':

Harry almost ran from the hallway, taking the first door he could open and closing it hurriedly behind him.

This was ridiculous! He could keep his cool when facing a Death Eater, but when facing a snake he had to falter in his acting? Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ What if Nagini suspected something? Merlin, this was hard! He just wasn't cut out to be a Dark Lord, honestly...

He turned around. And smiled. Well, Lady Luck had to be looking out for him, because he'd finally found the library.

Banishing his concerns about Nagini to the back of his mind, he walked to one of the numerous shelves and read the titles.

Oh, no.

Everything was written in some arcane language. He couldn't understand a word.

Praying to find English – Merlin, even Parselscript would be good! – he opened some of the books.

To hell with Lady Luck. She hated him, that's for sure.

There had to _some_ books he could read, right? He glanced around the library. The _big_ library.

With a sigh he started searching.

oo0oo

Voldemort just finished stoppering the vial when the door of the cupboard was yanked open, and Vernon Dursley pulled him out. 'Time to cook dinner, boy! And don't you dare to eat, you're not getting anything until Dudley is okay again!'

The Dark Lord let the Muggle drag him to the kitchen. Voldemort kept his face impassive, but inwardly he cheered. An excellent opportunity to have his revenge.

The horse-faced woman made him prepare the soup. When her back was to him he silently took the vial from his sleeve and emptied it.

Nice...

It was a small revenge, of course. If he had a wand and didn't have to worry about being put in Azkaban, he'd gladly have Cruciod these Muggles. But alas, one must cut one's coat according to one's cloth.

When he was done cooking he was put into Harry's room, which was a lot better than the cupboard. His stomach growled, but he ignored that.

He didn't have to wait long.

The door was opened again, by a fluorescent green Uncle Vernon. He was scatching his skin madly.

'YOU! _You'_ve done thisYou've _poisoned_ us, you filthy monster! Undo it, _NOW!_'

He looked positively murderous. The purple color of his face contrasted nicely with the green of his skin.

Voldemort smiled innocently. 'Undo it? I wouldn't know how. It'll wear off... In a month or two.'

The green color was pretty mild. A single countercharm could take care of that. But the itching... Well, there was no counter for, except time. In his younger days Voldemort sometimes used Itching Hexes to torture, keeping them up until the victims started to peel their own skin off, to get rid of the itch.

Behind Vernon, the Muggle woman screamed. 'I can't go shopping like this! And Duddikins, he'll miss school, and –'

Vernon grabbed Voldemort and shook him wildly. 'YOU _WILL_ REVERSE THIS AND-'

Still yelling, Vernon let his nephew go, and the dizzy Dark Lord fell backwards from the bed.

His head touched the floorboards. Hard.

He groaned, while the Uncle was ushered out of the room by an equally green Aunt. The door slammed closed behind them.

The dizziness abated slowly. He blinked.

From this place on the floor he could clearly see an irregularity in the floor. One of the floorboards seemed to be a little loose...

He adjusted the glasses, so he could see better, and sat up. Carefully he touched the loose floorboard and he realised he could lift it up. So he did.

And he saw a photo album, an Invisibility Cloak – how did Potter get one of these? – and a stack of candy. But most importantly –

11 inches of holly, containing a Phoenix tail feather.

If the Dursleys could have seen the glint in those green eyes, they would have packed and left the country for six years or so.

Now he only had to disable the safeties the Ministry and probably Dumbledore had put on it... And then he could play.

o00000000o

Disabling the warning spells every legal wand carried was done in a heartbeat. He wasn't a Dark Lord for nothing. Dumbledore's "Warn Me!" enchantement was a little harder, but it was neccesary to remove that one if he wanted to have his fun. It didn't only warn Dumbledore when Dark magic was used, but also prevented most of the stronger spells to work properly. Voldemort sneered. Apparently the old coot didn't trust his Golden Gryffindor to not turn to the Dark Arts, if these enchantements were any indication.

A simple _Alohomora_ took care of the locks on the bedroom door, and Voldemort tiptoed down the stairs. He wanted to surprise Potter's relatives.

The neon green Muggles had closed all the drapes, to hide their nicely colored skin from the neighbours. It was perfect, in Voldemort's opinion. Potter was certainly watched by Dumbledore's lackeys, so with the drapes closed they would have some privacy... Unless one of those lackeys happened to have an All-Seeing Eye.

Ah, well, sometimes you've got to take some risks.

He glanced into the kitchen. At the sink, all three Muggles were fervently scrubbing the skin on their arms, pausing once in a while to scratch somewhere else. Voldemort grinned evilly.

Time for some fun.

He pointed his wand at the youngest Muggle and whispered the Boiling Curse: 'Incalesco.'

Dudley paused his scratching. He blinked slowly. 'Dad, turn down the heat.'

Small tendrils of stream started coming from his skin. He started waving his arms wildly. 'Hot! Hot! Turn it down, I'm getting cooked!'

The horse-faced woman wailed. 'Duddikins! What's happening, Vernon?'

Dudley began to stagger towards the door, but with a swipe of his wand Voldemort locked all the doors and windows. Dudley's skin became a horrid mix between green and red. 'Help me! Aaaaaargh!'

Aunt Petunia grabbed the bucket with water and soap they were using to scrub their skin and emptied it over Dudley's head. He emitted big waves of steam, filling the kitchen with a white haze.

In the meantime, Uncle Vernon had spotted his nephew in front of the closed kitchen door. 'YOU AGAIN! THIS TIME YOU'LL _PAY_, BOY! I WILL -'

Voldemort waved the wand again. The fat Muggle's mouth kept moving, but no sound came forward. Voldemort did the same with the other two Muggles. Vernon tried to grab him, but a quick 'Locomotor Mortis' made him fall flat on his face. Petunia shied away from them, standing in front of Dudley as if to protect him.

That angered Voldemort perhaps the most. The sense of deja vu...

He lifted his wand and waved it lazily at the Evans woman. 'Crucio.'

She screamed soundlessly, because of the Silencio he had cast in advance. Her body twisted and turned in pain. Voldemort looked at it with glee.

Vernon had crawled to his nephew, and grasped Voldemort's feet, pulling the Dark Lord to the floor. The unexpected motion made Voldemort drop the Curse, and Petunia lay panting on the kitchen floor.

Voldemort's rage got to the boiling point. He hissed 'Crucio' again, now for Vernon, and scrambled to his feet.

For several minutes he just stood there, emerald eyes glittering. Petunia was still catching her breath and Dudley was filling the bucket with water and splashing it over himself.

Finally, the Dark Lord got tired of all the screaming. He waved his wand again, ending the Cruciatus and the Boiling Curse. With 'Imperio' he instructed the Muggles: '_Remember this, but talk, write or otherwise communicate with no one about this. Don't force me to do anything. Leave me alone. Otherwise act like nothing happened.'_

He waved Potter's wand again, a simple spell that cleaned the area of all evidence that magic had been used, and unlocked the doors. He cleaned the green of their skin, but left the itching, of course. That had been a perfectly legal potion, and it didn't even violate the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy.

With an overly sweet smile he bid the Muggles goodnight and went back upstairs, to Potter's room.

Revenge was sweet.

oo0oo

It just wasn't fair how quick the time went by when you were busy with something. Harry had only searched trough a small part of the library – finding no English or Parselscript, by the way, only illegible writing – when his stomach started growling again. A quick look through the only window told him it was way past sunset. It had to be around midnight or so.

Oh, no! The Death Eater meeting!

Wishing he was anywhere but in the body of his arch-nemesis, Harry made his way back to the kitchen. He had a quick bite to eat, and then went searching for a Death Eater. The logical place to go was of course the hallway he had encountered that Azkaban escapee.

Lady Luck was smiling at him, because the first person he saw was someone he knew.

Lucius Malfoy bowed for him. 'Good evening, My Lord.'

Wait a minute. Wasn't Malfoy supposed to be in Azkaban? Anger made Harry narrow his eyes. Perhaps the Ministry was holding back information – again. Another person who escaped from that prison couldn't have gone by completely unnoticed, could it now? He certainly would have remembered something if it had appeared in the _Daily Prophet_.

Lucius was slightly unnerved by his angry look. He fell to his knees and bowed until his head touched the floor. 'Have I angered you, Master?'

Harry blinked. The arrogant Lucius Malfoy, on his knees before him.

Ew. Wrong mental image!

Banishing those thoughts – Voldemort's body might not be so young anymore, but Harry's mind was still that of a hormone-filled teenager – he cleared his throat. 'Get up, Malfoy.' Oops. Didn't Voldemort usually call Malfoy by his first name?

Malfoy senior got back on his feet, still partly bowing.

Now, how did Voldemort call the Death Eaters again? He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. The nerves were killing him. He just _knew_ he was going to slip up.

'Follow me, Lucius,' he ordered, and walked to the front door. Once outside, he said to Malfoy: 'Give me your arm. It is time to call the others.'

'My Lord, I would be honored to.' Malfoy rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and Harry tentatively touched the Dark Mark. Malfoy gritted his teeth.

Ha, it worked!

Around them people started Apparating, all dressed in black robes and white masks. Harry shivered a little.

The Death Eaters formed a circle around him, and Malfoy joined them. Harry glanced around. There were so _many_!

If this was what they were fighting against, the Order was in serious trouble.

Or perhaps not, Harry mused, when he saw two muscled Death Eaters bumping into eachother and falling to the ground. If his guesses were correct, that had to be Crabbe and Goyle senior. No one else was _that_ thick.

'Greetings, my Death Eaters,' he hissed, not really sure what to say. What does a Dark Lord want from his followers, except sending them on a raid or something? Information!

'Who has anything to report?' Now he had to take a chance – hopefully, Snape was not yet discovered to be a spy, because he was the only one Harry knew to be spying and he needed a name. 'Snape! What have you found out at Hogwarts?'

Lady Luck was smiling, alright! From the circle one black-robed Death Eater came forward, and kneeled in front of him. Snape's oily voice said: 'Dumbledore has called together the Order of the Phoenix, Master. I believe several Aurors are part of it.'

He knew that. Hm. 'Find out their names,' he ordered. Harry looked around again. 'Well? Doesn't anyone else have something to report?'

While Snape went back to his place, someone else threw himself on the ground before Harry's feet. 'Master, forgive me! I have tried everything I could, but the Goblins refused...' His voice trailed off, and he began begging and crying at the same time.

'Yes, well, better luck next time,' Harry said uneasily. He knew that Voldemort would probably Crucio the man for failing, but he just... _couldn't_. He didn't feel the man deserved it, so it wouldn't work anyway.

The man crawled closer and kissed Harry's robes. 'Thank you, my Lord, thank you...'

Disgust was clearly written all over Voldemort's face. Harry cleared his throat. 'Next?'

Two Death Eaters stepped forward, bowing and holding something for him to take. 'My Lord, we have acquired the _Necronomicon_ for you. The former owners have been dealt with.'

Curiosity got the better of him, and Harry inspected the huge black book. It positively _reeked_ of Dark Arts. 'Nice work. You both shall be rewarded.'

He took the book in his spidery hands and a jolt of -_something_- shot up his spine.

Still holding the book, he watched how the next Death Eater stepped out of the circle. 'We have contacted several Werewolf packs, Master, and six have accepted our offer. I believe we can sway the others if we get more time.'

'Very well.'

The lack of someone getting Cruciod made the Death Eaters a little uncomfortable. Usually, their Lord didn't act so... forgiving. Had someone dared to Polyjuice him?

Fortunately for Harry, who of course didn't know what the Death Eaters were thinking, the next person who stood in front of him was someone he didn't mind hexing.

'Master,' Bellatrix Lestrange's voice rose from the mask, 'the house I was ordered to watch was flooded with Aurors. I was forced to abort the mission, lest I –'

Harry's anger rose again. This bitch was the reason Sirius died! He sneered, and waved Voldemort's wand at her.

The yew wand had no trouble with the Cruciatus Curse. And this time, Harry certainly enjoyed her pain. When his friends were near, he couldn't – but now he was the Dark Lord. He could do everything. _Anything_ he wanted. No repercussions from the Ministry or Dumbledore.

He kept the Curse on her for several minutes. When he lifted it, he hissed: 'You displease me too often. I haven't forgotten the fiasco in the Departement of Mysteries.' A few Death Eaters shivered at those words.

'I expect better of you next time.' _Crucio I can handle_, Harry thought, _but the Killing Curse is way out of my league._

Bellatrix also kissed his robes, before she got back in the circle.

Harry, a little shocked at what he had done, tried to clear his head. Time to get this over with.

The next person who came forward was a woman. 'The Dementors have accepted our offer, my Lord. They are yours to command.'

'Good work.'

Lucius Malfoy bowed. 'My Lord, we have started with the Polyjuice. In a month, the plan can be set into motion.'

Harry nodded. He had no idea what the plan was, but would seem odd if he asked an explanation... 'Fine with me. Was there anything else?'

Murmurs of 'no, my Lord', and Harry nodded again, regally. He still held the Necronomicon with one arm. 'You can leave. Don't expect another meeting for a while.'

As the Death Eaters started Apparating away, Harry mentally cringed. His choice of wording was absolutely not Voldemort-like... It was a miracle no one seemed to notice this. Or perhaps they did... And didn't dare to say anything about it.

Harry groaned. He needed to sleep. Hopefully he'd wake up back in his own body.

Fat chance. Not with _his_ kind of luck.

oo0oo

Voldemort was lying on Harry's bed, staring at the ceiling. The memories of what he'd done with the Dursleys still made him smile. Ah, revenge was sweet.

Until he heard a sound. Someone was moving around on the stairs.

The Muggles had gone to bed already. So who was creeping around in the house, at this time of the night?

If it were burglars, he would fry them, he resolved. He snatched Harry's Invisibility Cloak from beneath the loose floorboard and put it on, his wand at the ready.

The bedroom door creaked open. 'Harry?' someone whispered. A head with short, fluorescent yellow hair peeked through the doorway.

The woman looked around, and said to someone behind her: 'He isn't here!'

'Oh, yes he is,' a voice growled. An ugly man with two different colored eyes pulled the door further open and looked right at Voldemort. Damn! He had an All-Seeing Eye!

'Potter, put that cloak back and get your stuff. We're leaving to the Headquarters.'

Headquarters? Perhaps the one of the Order of the Phoenix? Ha! He _knew_ the old Bumblebee had called his ridiculous Order back together!

Voldemort decided he might as well do as they told him. They weren't Death Eaters, that was for sure. He thought he recognized the old man... Wasn't that a friend of Dumbledore, that paranoid Auror? The one Crouch Junior had inpersonated for a year... What was his name again... Ah, yes. Alastor Moody.

'Yes sir,' he murmured, and put his wand in his back pocket, easily in reach. The old man snorted. 'You never learn, do you, Potter?'

'My trunk is in the cupboard beneath the stairs –' Voldemort started saying, but the old man interrupted him. 'Yes, Remus is getting it. Hush now, we don't want to wake the Muggles.'

Another person entered the small bedroom, with the trunk in his arms. He looked tired and worn, with dark circles under his eyes. 'Hello, Harry.'

'Hello, Remus,' Voldemort said, grateful that Moody had said the name of the stranger.

Remus smiled faintly. 'I left a note to your relatives. So they don't have to worry.'

'Well, ready to leave, Harry? We'll be going with Portkey now. Dumbledore got authorisation to make as many Portkeys as he wishes.' The young witch grinned. 'It'll be a lot easier than last time. I get cold if I only _think_ about that broomflight.'

Voldemort just nodded. Remus digged a piece of string from his pocket, but Moody held up a hand. 'Wait. We must first make sure this is the real Hary Potter. We can't chance taking a Death Eater with us.'

_You've no idea,_ Voldemort thought. Damn. This complicated things.

'Wait an hour, so you'll see I'm not someone else Polyjuiced?' he proposed, but Moody shook his head. 'No time for that.'

'I'll ask a question only Harry knows,' Remus said, and Voldemort held his breath. _Something easy, something easy,_ he prayed.

'Harry, what was Sirius' nickname?'

Voldemort inwardly cheered. He knew that! He had forced Wormtail to tell him everything about his little group of former friends... Let's see... The werewolf was Moony, obviously. That left Padfoot or Prongs... But which was which? He'd have to guess...

While he was thinking all that, he turned away his eyes, forcing a few tears out. That Sirius had been the boy's Godfather, after all. At least, that's what Wormtail and Bella claimed.

'Padfoot, of course. But do you _really_ have to remind me of him!' he yelled, pretenting to be angry and heartbroken. He wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. Acting was, quite literally, in his blood.

Remus sad eyes told him he had guessed right. The man gave him a hug. 'Hush, Harry... I'm sorry.'

'Well, that's definately Potter,' Moody decided. He gathered the trunk and the rest of Harry's stuff from beneath the loose floorboard. 'We need to hurry. There could be Death Eaters everywhere. And the Muggles are waking because of that noise you made.' He looked pointedly at Voldemort.

Remus released him. 'Now, grab this piece of string, Harry.' They all did, Moody and the woman holding Potter's stuff.

'_Activate,'_ Voldemort heard someone say, and he felt the pulling sensation at his navel.

To the Headquarters!

o00000000o


	4. Keep the same appointments

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all._

**Walk in my shoes (3)**

**3. Keep the same appointments I kept**

Harry Potter was tired and sick of this whole situation. The Death Eater meeting hadn't been easy, not at all. He feared half the Death Eaters were wondering about his sanity. Only one Cruciatus in the entire meeting? Harry knew he had messed up, and it made him incredibly grateful for the Parsletongue-locked doors in Voldemort's personal quarters.

He was pondering this when he opened the bedroom door, and discovered that apparently the locks weren't so efficient after all. There was a way to circumvent them.

Otherwise, Bellatrix Lestrange wouldn't be lying on his bed.

In a lacy nightgown.

A very _short_ lacy nightgown.

For once, Harry's anger was overruled by his bewilderment. He just stood in the doorway, gaping at the skinny woman that was smiling seductively at him.

Bellatrix Lestrange gazed back, almost purring. 'My Lord, I was hoping you'd come to bed early...'

Harry swallowed. He did not want to think about this. Voldemort and Bellatrix... He shivered.

A tad disgruntled because he didn't react, she pouted a little. 'Master, you haven't graced me with your presence for so long... Please, Master, I'd do anything! Everything!'

Oh, no. Hormone-filled teenager or not, this was not how he wanted his evening to be. He raked his mind for a way to get rid of her.

'You're married.'

The woman laughed. Now she was walking towards him, swinging her hips. 'Rudolphus, my Lord? You have send him away to Transylvania, Master.' She sunk to her knees, stroking his legs, parting the cloak. 'He is not important.'

Harry recoiled, snatching his cloak from her eager hands. 'I put you under the Cruciatus,' he reminded her, hoping she would remember he was Voldemort, evil and bloodthirsty and a Dark Lord, and _definiatly not_ someone to snog with.

But Bellatrix' eyes started to gleam, and she moaned. 'Oh, yes, Master. Perhaps you would like to do it again?' She practically begged.

Harry resisted the urge to re-introduce his dinner to the world. Well, no doubt about it: Bellatrix Lestrange was seriously insane.

But what to do now? It wasn't often he found himself in a room with a woman twice his age that seemed to have masochistic tendecies and was hell-bent on seducing him, while he happened to be stuck in he body of his arch-nemesis.

Thank the gods it didn't happen often, he thought.

'Er, no. Not tonight. Get out of my room.' He tried to make his voice commanding, but it wavered a little.

Bellatrix wasn't convinced. She changed her approach and parted his cloak again, aiming for the buttons of the robe under it.

Harry panicked, almost ran out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Nagini was staring at him.

:'Master does not want to spend time with female?': She hissed with a hint of amusement.

Harry kept the door closed behind him. He heard Bellatrix begging for him to come back inside.

:'Er, no. Not really. Do I have another bedroom where I won't be disturbed?': The question was odd, and he heard the suspicion in her answering hiss, but at the moment he couldn't care less. He was _not_ spending the night in that room!

:'That way, third door on the left.': She pointed with her tail. Harry nodded. :'Thank you.':

Without another word, he started running.

A few seconds later Bellatrix burst trough the door. She stared at the fleeing form of Lord Voldemort, and sighed. 'He never has any time for me anymore.'

Nagini hissed, thoughtful.

:-:

Voldemort immediatly recognized Grimmauld Place 12. After all, he had visited it in some occasions... Until young Regulus started to make trouble, and was killed accordingly.

Ah, the memories...

The Portkey took them to the living room, where a lot of people were sitting, drinking coffee. A chubby redheaded woman, a lot of redheaded people, that Remus person, ...

He was being greeted by everyone, but didn't have the time to say something back, because a bushy haired girl hugged him as soon as he stepped into the room. 'Harry!'

'Hey mate,' the male redhead greeted him. 'How are you doing? Good thing you're here; Hermione is driving me crazy, obsessing over her OWL's all day.'

'_Ron!_ I'm not obsessing, I'm just _worried_! I'm sure I've made a big mistake with my translation in Ancient Runes, and –'

Lord Voldemort tuned her out. He realised he was in trouble.

He didn't know these people. Except for Moody, then. And apparently the duo arguing in front of him were called Ron and Hermione.

Well, he knew the name of the youngest Weasley, from when Lucius informed him of the whole diary episode. Lucius had been punished, by the way, for losing such a valuable object. It had been... _entertaining_.

The youngest Weasley's name was Ginny. And if his information was correct, she had a thing for dark-haired, green-eyed boys.

His information was _very_ correct, because when he sat down she used his lap as a chair.

'Harry,' she smiled. 'Dean left me. And I'm so _sad_ now.'

'Wait a minute, I thought you left him, not –' Ron started to say, but a glare from Ginny shut him up. Voldemort cleared his troat, suddenly uncomfortable.

Usually, teenage girls didn't sit on the lap of Dark Lords. Usually they ran away screaming when they saw him.

He didn't like the change. But how would Potter deal with this unwanted attentions?

'Er, sorry, Ginny. I'm not – interested, sorry.'

The girl shrugged. 'I could try.'

The other one – Hermione? – looked at him with sorrowful eyes. 'But honestly, Harry, how are you feeling? With Sirius –'

'- Dead. I know.' Voldemort was careful to inject as much sadness and bitterness as possible in his voice.

That moment someone else Portkeyed into the room, someone Voldemort did know, and fierce hatred twisted his insides.

Dumbledore smiled at him. 'Good evening, Harry.' He nodded in greeting at everyone else. Suddenly, the chubby woman left her seat on the sofa and ushered him, Ron, Hermione and Ginny out. 'Time for bed, it's a quarter past eleven already.'

'Mom! I want to –'

'Molly, dear, Harry will be allowed to stay. He needs to hear this.'

Ah. They were going to have a meeting, perhaps?

The woman protested, but Dumbledore stood his ground. Voldemort smiled inwardly.

The other children had to leave, however. Before he was ushered up the stairs, Ron mouthed "tell us everything when it's over", but Voldemort pretented he didn't notice that. He had other things on his mind.

He followed Dumbledore and the other adults to the kitchen, where everyone took a seat at the table.

'Severus can be here any second,' Dumbledore said. Voldemort frowned inwardly. Severus? Perhaps... Severus Snape, his spy at Hogwarts?

He hadn't said anything about the Order of the Phoenix... But Severus was loyal, and he hated Harry Potter. He couldn't be...

But he was.

Voldemort's hands itched to grab his wand and Crucio the filthy traitor, but he managed to control himself when Hogwarts' Potions Master entered the room.

His greeting was a sneer, accompanied with a hateful glance towards Voldemort. The Dark Lord seethed.

'Please tell us what happened at the meeting you just come from, Severus,' Dumbledore asked.

Severus sneered some more. 'The Dark Lord has been acting... strangely. Only Bellatrix has been at the opposite end of his wand tonight.'

'How do you mean, strange?' The balding redhead asked, probably the father of the Weasleys.

Severus' sneer grew. 'When Amadeus Cyclopine admitted his failure, the Dark Lord simply said: 'Better luck next time.' Believe me, Weasley, _that_ doesn't happen often.'

Voldemort inwardly groaned. That Potter brat was ruining his reputation!

Snape continued. 'Also, he has acquired the Necronomicon.'

What! Rimbauer had failed every single time he asked him to get that treasure of Dark Magic, and now he wasn't present Rimbauer _finally_ managed to succeed! It wasn't _fair_!

And with all the Blood Magic and Demon Arts it held, he feared Potter just _might_ discover a way to off him.

Great.

'Six werewolf clans and the dementors have decided to ally with the Dark Lord. From Rudolphus still no news, knowing his diplomatic skills I believe he has already become dinner for the vampire clans he is meeting.'

Bloody _perfect_! If Rudolphus didn't return, he would be plagued by Bellatrix every single night. He always could kill her, but she was so useful sometimes...

:-:

The rest of the meeting was hardly worth the effort of listening; they were talking about what to do if he attacked the Ministry, or Hogwarts, what kind of protections they might use... Nothing Voldemort couldn't have found out himself.

Snape's information was the most interesting. The way Potter acted in his body seemed to imply he didn't think this through... Or perhaps he wasn't guilty of this body-switch? But if Potter hadn't done it, who had?

When the meeting ended, and Voldemort was send to bed by Molly, he felt some probing at his mental barriers. First he didn't recognize the feeling – his body was protected against Legilimency, so he hadn't needed to practise his Occlumency for a while.

But now he was grateful he could still use Occlumency, because Dumbledore was probing at his mind and that was _not_ acceptable. He shoved the old coot out.

Dumbledore blinked. 'Harry, when did you learn Occlumency?'

'Over the summer,' Voldemort answered. 'I had to do something to keep me occupied. And frankly, I got tired of those dreams.'

That last sentence was a complete truth. As soon as he realised Potter could acces his mind, he had concentrated on closing the connection. Well, after that whole Departement of Mysteries disaster.

Dumbledore frowned a little, but then his smile returned. 'You learned it all by yourself? Bravo, Harry, I'm proud of you.'

Voldemort shrugged, playing the role of the depressed hero.

When he got upstairs he started to wonder where his bedroom was, but suddenly two arms pulled him into a room. His, if his trunk next to the bed was any indication.

Ron looked at him. 'And? What did they tell you? I saw the Greasy Bat arriving – what did he have to tell?'

'If you don't mind, I'd like to go to sleep now,' Voldemort snapped. He ignored Ron and flopped down on the bed. Gods, he was tired.

The redhead made a grumpy noise, but left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Voldemort knew he shouldn't have snapped at him, but he just couldn't care right now.

Perhaps if he went to sleep, he would wake up back in his own body...

With that thought in mind, he closed Harry Potter's eyes.

o00000000o

Day one at Grimmauld Place 12, and two days before September First. Frankly, Voldemort was sick of it already. Being Boy Wonder wasn't as easy as he'd hoped; his only consolation was that Potter probably had more problems right now. There was no way the boy could live in Slytherin Castle and not be eaten after two days. He couldn't know how to evade the countless traps the castle held, not to mention the Dark Creatures roaming the grounds.

_Absolutely_ no way.

But of course, the boy _did_ have an impossible amount of luck…

No, Voldemort decided, there was absolutely _no_ _way_ in hell he'd survive two days in Slytherin Castle.

Well... Perhaps he'd survive, but he'd be a little maimed, at least. Hopefully.

Blast that Potter and his infernal luck!

Firmly convinced that Potter was having the time of his life and he'd gotten the worst end of the deal, Voldemort groaned. He hated his life, sometimes. As if being stuck as a ghost for thirteen years hadn't been enough, now he had to deal with _teenagers_. And he couldn't just Crucio them and be done with it, no, he had to act as if he _liked_ them!

The trouble had started at breakfast.

After dressing and while going downstairs, to the kitchen, he had been stopped by the male redhead, Ron. The boy looked at him expectantly, until Voldemort asked irritably: 'What is it?'

Ron stared, pointedly. 'Aren't you going to apologize?'

Voldemort blinked. What was this annoying brat blabbering about? 'Excuse me?'

'About last night, you dolt. I understand you're still grieving and stuff, but that's no reason to snap at me!' His annoyed look became worried. 'What's happening to you, mate? We used to tell eachother everything, but since last year you're so... reserved.'

Voldemort absolutely detested teenagers. Even when he was one himself. Good thing for him he never had any friends, only associates; friends could be a right pain in the ass, apparently!

'Listen, br- _Ron_, this isn't a _game_. We're in the middle of a _war_. If the adults think you're to young to know what's going on out there, you'd best celebrate the fact you still have time to enjoy your life, and not have to worry about how many Muggles or Aurors were killed.'

Ron wasn't convinced. 'But you get to know everything! You're just as old as I am!'

Not really, Voldemort thought, but he answered: 'I'm privy to most information because there's a prophecy made about me and P- the Dark Lord.'

'Liar! The prophecy was broken, you can't –'

'Someone who was present when it was spoken told me. And no, you don't need to know how it goes. Just accept you're not going to get any information from me.' He smiled coldly. 'If you would step aside, Ron, I'd like to get some breakfast.'

:-:

Voldemort was silent during most of the breakfast. He ignored the odd looks he recieved, and the angry glare of Ron.

After breakfast they were handed their Hogwarts letters by Mrs Weasley.

'Dumbledore handed them to me last night, since the school owls aren't keyed into the wards. Harry, dear, domething seems to have gone wrong with yours, the owl who was delivering it has disappeared. You'll just have to look at Ron's list for your supplies.'

Ron glared daggers at Voldemort. The Dark Lord rolled his eyes.

The bushy haired witch – Hermoyree or something like that – gasped. 'What about his O.W.L. scores?'

'Professor Dumbledore will hand you those when you're at Hogwarts,' Mrs Weasley said. 'Now, in ten minutes I expect you all in the hall. We're using a Portkey.'

'Were are we going?' Voldemort asked.

'To Diagon Alley, Harry, dear. You need to get your school supplies,' Mrs Weasley smiled. Voldemort smiled inwardly. Diagon Alley... With some luck he'd be able to slip into Knockturn Alley, and get some objects that would make his life at Hogwarts more... bearable.

:-:

Since Voldemort was already dressed and ready to leave, he was the first to arrive in the hall. He looked around, remembering how there used to be more Dark Arts objects lying around. And someone had removed the House Elf heads. Pity... They had given the house the perfect gloomy atmosphere.

The arrival of a woman with violently orange hair – and the subsequent tripping of that woman over her own feet, followed by some heartfelt cursing – was enough to wake the portrait that had been conceiled after thick curtans. The woman – Mrs Black, if Voldemort remembered correctly – started screeching so loud it would make Petunia Dursley proud.

'_Filthy halfbreeds defouling my house! Mugglelovers and freaks, ruining the noble house of Black, all because of that filthy, rotten -' _

Voldemort had a headache. And this was not helping.

'SHUT UP!'

The panting fixed her rolling eyes on him. '_You, the freak that blood traitor left the house of my fathers to, how dare you –'_

Voldemort walked towards the painting, until he was almost nose-to-nose with it. He bared his teeth.

'Mrs. Black,' he hissed, 'You do _not_ want to cross me.'

The woman quieted, perhaps because of his words, but more likely because his eyes became red for a second or two.

While the painting looked at him fearfully, the young woman that had just arrived walked towards him.

'Wotcher, Harry. Wow. That's the first time someone got her quiet. How'd you do it?'

'I can be very persuasive.' Voldemort offered her a cold smile. The woman shivered slightly. 'You okay, Harry?'

'Never better.'

'Oi! Tonks, how's it going?' Ginny greeted the woman. The other Weasleys, Moody, and the Mudblood girl arrived shortly after, and with another piece of string they left Grimmauld Place.

:-:

Diagon Alley was crammed with people. It would seem easy to slip away unnoticed in such a crowd, but it wasn't. Especially not with two Aurors trailing behind you and a bunch of Weasleys dragging you everywhere. And the reporters that seemed to flock around them weren't helpful either.

'Mr Potter, how did you feel when the Ministry admitted –'

'Mr Potter, for _Witch Weekly_, do you have a girlfriend?'

'Mr Potter, do you –'

'Mr Potter –'

He glanced longingly at the entrance of Knockturn Alley. How he would like to Avada these reporters... But he couldn't. Azkaban was supposed to be very cold this time of the year...

:-:

There _had_ to be another library here somewhere, Harry mused. Voldemort had to have at least _some_ books in English, right? Or at least Parselscript, if such a thing existed?

After waking, dressing and kicking Wormtail from the kitchen, Harry had enjoyed a very nice breakfast. The rail-thin House Elf that had appeared when he was searching the cupboards almost had a heart attack when he thanked him and complimented him for making such delicious bacon.

The entire day was spend exploring. Harry was almost killed three times. Once by a armour that swung his battle axe with a bit too much enthousiasm, and twice by the stairs, that seemed to disappear at random intervals. It was a good thing he had Quidditch reflexes. Otherwise he'd be dead trice over already.

Quickly avoiding the sword of another armour, Harry tripped and smashed against the opposing wall. He glared at the armour, that was once again standing still.

It was then he noticed the owl, impatiently hooting at the window. Huh?

Carefully Harry stood and opened the window. The owl settled on his shoulder and offered the letter he carried.

_Harry Potter_

_Somewhere Unplottable_

It was his Hogwarts letter? And with it – his O.W.L. results!

He read through it twice, and smiled a little. Too bad he couldn't go to Hogwarts, he'd loved to see Snape's face when he told him he'd gotten an _Exceeds Expectations_ at Potions!

With a pat he send the school owl back outside, apologizing he hadn't any owl treats for him. The owl pecked his fingers and left.

Harry put his Hogwarts letter in his robe pocket. He glanced around, to see if there were any death-traps hidden in the near vicinity.

The coast seemed clear. Harry started to walk again –

- and fell into the trapdoor that just appeared under his feet. Even as he was falling down he cursed himself. Stupid, _stupid!_

Blackness overtook him.

:-:

Something dry and smooth glided against his arm. His nose itched.

'_Atch-**oo**_!' He sneezed, opening his eyes. He stifled a scream.

A small, green serpent with yellow eyes and a scarlet plume on his head was staring at him, and touched Harry's nose with his tongue.

:'Daddy? Why didn't you come in through the stairway?': It asked, sounding puzzled.

Harry shivered. _Daddy!_ The idea of Voldemort as anyone's father was – _ye_ _gods,_ he was going to be _sick!_

He tried to smile. :'Eh – I wanted to see if the trapdoor still worked.':

The little serpent hissed. :'Oh. Too bad, I thought dinner had arrived. The three hundred pounds meat yesterday was delicious, but I'm hungry again.':

Not wanting too think about what Voldemort probably fed his pets – (marinated Muggle, anyone?) – Harry asked wonderingly:'Three hundred pounds? You don't look as if you eat that much, to be honest.':

:'Oh, I don't,': the little serpent happily said:'But my big brother does.':

Something big was moving in the semi-darkness. A forked tongue the size of his leg touched Harry's head.

At least 70 feet of poison-green serpent slided forwards, caressing Harry with it's tongue. :'Dad.:'

_Please let me wake up now._ _I'll never have any bananas before bedtime ever again, I promise,_ Harry thought, gazing at the serpent.

Wait a minute... He recognized this, it was a Basilisk! No, wait – they were both basilisks, the little one too!

And he was still staring into the big yellow eyes.

So, that meant he – or at least, Voldemort's body – was immune to the deadly gaze. Great.

Now he was stuck with a seventy feet basilisk that called him 'dad'. Could his life get any more messed up?

:'It's eh, nice to see you both... But can you help me find the stairs, I can't see so well in the dark and stuff...': He smiled a little. :'Then I'll see if I can get you a snack or something.':

:-:

It was oddly exhilarating to just order the first Death Eater he encountered to 'go feed my pets, in the second corridor to the left. I don't care what you give them, as long as it's meat, it's fresh and in great quantity.'

Yes, Harry thought, while he left the Death Eater behind, perhaps being a Dark Lord wasn't so bad after all...

o00o00o

Harry realised he had no idea how to get back to the entrance hall.

He was just exploring another hallway when he suddenly fell through a trapdoor – again. The stone floor seemed softer when he fell – a Cushioning Charm? With a quiet 'Lumos' he looked around. He was sitting in a small, circular room, with two doors.

He grasped the wand tightly and decided to just go and see if there was a staircase behind one of those doors. With all his Gryffindor bravery he took the door handle and –

A fierce growling came from behind it. Harry swallowed. 'It's just a dog, it's just a dog, it won't attack its master,' he said softly, trying to assure himself.

Sure, he was brave, but memories of Fluffy the three headed dog came forward and he really didn't think Voldemort kept poodles.

The growls became louder and angrier.

A three headed dog, if he was lucky.

Probably something worse.

Maybe he'd better try the other door.

He turned around, but a load thumping sound came from behind him, followed by croaking. Harry swallowed, and looked back.

The door was hanging half out of its hinges. Splintered wood, everywhere. And the biggest, most monstrous dog ever was poking its head out, snarling and growling at him. The creature had glowing red eyes, was at least as big as the door itself and its dark fur was matted with dried blood.

Cute.

And behind the dog, in the light of a single torch, Harry saw the faint outline of a staircase.

Just wonderful.

The dog managed to break away the last pieces of the door that kept him from his dinner and ran towards Harry, his large teeth glittering, drool dripping on the floor.

Harry thought fast. '_Stupefy!'_

The red beam hit the dog right in its chest – but it kept running. Harry cursed silently. He'd have to outrun it. Hoping he'd get to the stairs before the dog ripped him to shreds.

The dog jumped – Harry ducked, missing the open yaw narrowly. His black robes ripped.

He ran towards the stairs. Fifteen feet... Ten...

Claws tore his robes. Pain erupted in his shoulder.

Five feet...

Nearly there...

He evaded the huge paw aimed for his head and jumped on the stairs. He could see an iron-clad door in front of him. '_Alohomora!'_ It remained closed.

He nearly tripped over his robes. Fangs grazed his leg. :'Open up!':

The door slowly turned on his hinges. Harry used the last of his energy to run the final metres and –

He slammed the door close, right before the snappings yaws.

Panting, he leaned against the door. Behind it, he could hear the dog barking, but it quieted soon enough.

His robes were ripped. His leg and shoulder burned painfully, and Voldemort's whole body felt sore. He was exhausted.

Nagini slithered by. She stilled when she saw him. :'Master? Is everything alright?':

:'Just fine, thank you.':

Blood dripped on the floor.

Nagini hissed softly. :'You are not my master.':

Harry swallowed. :'Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?':

:'You may smell like him, but you don't act like him. You don't talk him him. The way you walk.': She bared her fangs, menacing. :'Who are you and what have you done with my Master?':

Harry slowly edged away from the angry serpent. :'Listen, it's all one big misunderstanding...':

_**:'Where is he?':**_

:'I suppose he's in my body. I don't know how it happened, but we got switched, and –':

She didn't let him finish his sentence. :'Ah. So who are you, then?':

:'Eh...': Was it safe to tell her? She couldn't harm him without harming her Master, but did he really want to take the risk:'Neville.':

Her eyes were merciless. :'You lie.':

:'Fine! I'm Harry. We've met before.':

Her eyes seemed to widen. :'Harry... Potter?':

:'The one and only. But please, I need to find a way to get back in my own body.':

:'That you do.': She agreed. :'I shall lead you to Master's secret library. And you must learn to act the right way, otherwise the humans will realise you're not him and kill you.':

Harry smiled a little. :'Eh, thanks, Nagini.':

:-:

Voldemort was silent most of the time. He was constantly bugged by the two chattering girls, but Ron was still sulking.

The two girls tried to make conversation with him, but Voldemort ignored them. Like he had ignored the reporters in Diagon Alley. He was too occupied with his own mind, trying to figure out how to get acces to the Restricted Section. Perhaps there was a book about body-switches... It couldn't be the first time something like this happened.

September first had come threateningly closer, and it was with dread that Voldemort mounted the Hogwarts Express. Remus dragged his trunk inside.

'So, Harry,' the ragged looking man started, 'will you be okay? Did you enjoy spending these last few days at Grimmauld Place? I wasn't sure at first, I thought it would bring fort bad memories, and you're looking so very -'

'I had a perfectly wonderful summer,' Voldemort replied. _And this wasn't it,_ he added silently. Remus smiled, said goodbye, and left the train. Voldemort followed the two Weasleys and Hermione into a compartement.

He ignored the waving Order members and pretended to be engrossed in one of his school books. It was not long before two people joined them.

'Hi, Neville. Er... Nice earrings, Luna.'

'Thanks,' the blond girl replied. Voldemort looked up, and stared at her ears. Little metallic boxes... Weren't that toasters? Muggle toasters?

Luna sat down right next to him. She beamed. 'Dad and I went to Belgium this year, to search for an Arsistis.'

Hermione rolled her eyes, but tried to remain friendly. 'And did you find one?'

'Yes, but he disappeared before we could make a picture of him.'

Voldemort sighed. Neville looked at him. 'So, er, Harry... How are you doing?'

Voldemort just looked at him. His eyes said clearly: "Leave me alone and shut up." Neville gulped.

The door opened again, and Draco Malfoy strolled in, flanked by his two bodyguards. He sneered at everyone. 'So, Pothead, ready for another year? If you'll last that long, of course. The Dark Lord won't fail next time.'

'Perhaps you've forgotten the little gift we gave you at the end of last year, hm?' Hermione asked calmly.

'We'd be happy to remind you. You Slytherin scum have such a bad memory,' Ron added.

Draco fumed. 'Shut up, Weasel!' He drew his wand. 'This time you won't get to hide behind the Mudblood's skirt!'

The others also drew their wands, except Voldemort. He was increasingly bored with this.

'Get out, Ferret Boy,' Ginny said.

Draco smiled nastily. 'Make me.' He started saying a Dark Cutting Curse.

Voldemort grabbed Potter's wand. Quick as lightening he had Draco pushed against a wall, Potter's wand pointed at Draco's neck. 'You will arrange a meeting with your father for me,' he hissed, silently so the others wouldn't hear. Draco didn't seem to understand. 'What do you want with my father? He'll kill you! And I will shit on your grave, Scarface!'

Voldemort let him go, and he fled, together with his guards.

He needed to speak with Lucius... But Draco hadn't seemed to understand him. This complicated things.

'We have to go to the Prefects compartement,' Hermione suddenly said, breaking the silence. A few moments later she had dragged Ron from his seat and left.

Voldemort sat back down. He shot the other three a look that didn't invite any conversation, took his book, and pretented to read.

The rest of the journey was delightfully silent.

o00000000o


	5. Forbidden fruits for me to eat

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all.

**Walk in my shoes (4)**

**4. Forbidden fruits for me to eat**

Voldemort's secret library was huge, and filled with the most curious tomes. The biggest part of it was written in spidery letters that Harry could read as if it was English; Parselscript, he guessed. There were many books with many different subjects. But it was bloody hard to find something about body-switches.

One book, '_Mental Mishaps'_, seemed promising at the beginning, but Harry soon discovered it was actually the biography of a wizard in the 7th century who adopted a Dementor because he wanted to 'tame' it. It goes without saying that the biography was quite short.

The most promising one so far had been '_Switching Minds; A Simple Guide'_ but it was about projecting ones mind into an animal to see through its eyes, not actual _switching_.

So far, Harry hadn't discovered anything useful. But he couldn't give up. There had to be some way to get back in his own body... There just had to be...

When he wasn't searching for a cure, he was practising with Nagini. She instructed him how to walk soundlessly, and how to glare like Voldemort did. Harry had to admit, he was starting to like the snake.

He had been spending several days, perhaps even weeks, in Slytherin Manor, and thanks to Nagini he'd stopped walking into traps. A great relief, honestly. The Basilisks were okay – he'd visited them again – but the dog had been a little bit much.

He was sitting on the comfy couch in Voldemort's living room, skimming through some books, when Nagini slithered inside. :'Harry, the spicy-smelling man is here to speak with you. Remember to act like we practised.':

:'Don't worry, Nagini. I'll be fine.':

'Enter.'

Snape swallowed a bit nervously. It was impossible to determine the Dark Lord's mood lately. He didn't want to end up at the wrong side of his wand...

He strenghtened his Occlumency shields and entered the room. The Dark Lord was sitting on the couch, calmly chatting with Nagini. Snape bowed deeply. 'My Lord.'

'Snape,' the Dark Lord greeted him. A truly horrific smile stretched his thin lips. 'Severus. Why did you want to speak with me?'

Snape tried to ignore Nagini, who stared at him hungrily. 'My Lord, I have good news for you. The Polyjuice Potion is finished.'

'That's splendid news. Was there something else?'

Snape bowed again. 'No, my Lord.'

Harry had to admit he enjoyed this. Being able to dismiss Snape... Great. Being a Dark Lord wasn't that bad, really.

:-:

Being back at Hogwarts, right under the old coot's nose, was wonderful. Even Voldemort had to admit this. Just to walk these hallways again, seeing the paintings move... It reminded Voldemort of somewhat happier days.

He went to Potter's classes, and naturally excelled at them, even Divination. He barely studied, but he really didn't have to. He was a Dark Lord, for heaven's sake. If he could master Necromancy and raise Inferi, a little thing like Charms wasn't going to stop him.

Potter's friends had apparently accepted his rather reserved attitude. Hermione and Ginny usually sat with him while he read and they studied. Ron stopped talking much to him, but Voldemort didn't mind. He didn't need friends.

He'd been at Hogwarts for a month or so, and every single night he took out Potter's Invisibility Cloak and went to the Restricted Section. He had to find a cure. He just had too.

It was another one of those nightly strolls in Hogwart's Library. Voldemort was just scanning the second row of the third shelf when he heard something.

Footsteps?

Hastily he glanced around. No one. Perhaps someone with an Invisibility Cloak? But who?

'I see you want to put Madame Pince out of work, Harry. Dusting al those books with your cloak sleeves...'

It just _had _to be _him_. Great. Bloody freakin' wonderful.

He let his cloak fall to the ground, and nodded politely. 'Good evening, Headmaster.'

Dumbledore watched him intently from behind those half-moon glasses. 'What are you doing here at this time of the night, Harry?'

Voldemort tried to look embarresed. 'Well, Headmaster... I couldn't sleep. I've been wondering about the Prophecy about me and the Dark Lord, and everything is so... I'm confused, Headmaster.'

'So you are,' was Dumbledores calm reply. 'I presume you are trying to find a way to defeat him?'

Voldemort nodded.

'Ah, Harry, dear boy. You won't find the answer in the Restricted Section. Believe me. Perhaps you'd better look somewhat closer. Your friends, how are they?'

'Okay, I guess.' Voldemort shrugged, rather bored with this entire conversation. 'Ron is mad at me, though. He seems annoyed that I'm focussing so much on my studies.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Ah.' His eyes became more serious. 'You won't get a detention for this, Harry, but if someon finds you here next time, you will. The Restricted Section is not allowed to students for a reason. Like the Muggles say: the road to hell is paved with good intentions. You won't find your answer here.'

Voldemort stared at the floor, trying to hide his annoyance. 'Yes sir.'

'Off you go, then.'

:-:

Being a Dark Lord wouldn't be so bad, if here wasn't a gaunt-looking woman waiting in his bed all the time, Harry reflected. This was the sixth time Bellatrix had been waiting for him. Again, he was forced to flee and find another bedroom.

Really, couldn't that woman take a hint?

And honestly, it wasn't as if Voldemort was so goodlooking! The flat nose, the slitted nostrils, the creepy red eyes, much too pale and thin... Although, he did have nice buttocks. Harry had to admit it. With some plastical surgery and a tan Voldemort would be rather nice to look at...

Merlin, what was he thinking? Yeah, real great, it's always better to be killed by someone handsome, he thought sardonically.

He shook his head, wished Nagini goodnight and doused the light.

Hopefully he'd have more luck tomorrow.

o00000000o

In '_MindGames: The Truth About Seperating Your Mind' _was a way to seperate the mind from the body. Also, it claimed that the mind would go back to its body after a certain time out of it. Now, if Harry was correct, this meant he'd end up back in his own body. Right?

He only hoped Voldemort would swap bodies too. Otherwise, he'd be stuck with a Dark Lord in his head, and he was already doubting his sanity. Or perhaps he'd be banished back into this body, and he could go back researching... Giving Voldemort more time to hurt his friends. No, this had to work. It just had to.

Harry glanced up from the book, to stare for a moment at the _Necronomicon. _It seemed to be watching him, daring him to open its pages.

No, that's ridiculous. Sure, magical books existed, but none of those watched their owners so hungrily... Right? He was just imagining it...

He'd done his best to stay away from the books that reeked of the Dark Arts, but most of Voldemort's library seemed comprised of those. It was hard to avoid them. And the _Necronomicon_ was the worst of all. The ancient book moved around, and always remained in Harry's sight. It demanded to be read.

Harry ignored it – though he couldn't help looking at it once in a while – and tried to memorize the small ritual he had to go through.

Clad in Voldemort's white robe, he lighted the incense and the smoke filled the air. Harry became light-headed. He let his breath escape, whispered the words, and everything became black.

:-:

Why couldn't Potter have a more normal hobby, like collecting stamps? No, it just _had_ to be Quidditch!

Voldemort was very annoyed. When the Gryffindor Captain, Angelina Johnson, had approached him with the message that she expected him at seven a.m. on the Quidditch Pitch, he'd nearly fainted.

And Dark Lords Do Not Faint!

Of course that bloody Dumbledore had to lift Potter's ban to play Quidditch... It just wasn't fair!

Now, if there was one subject Tom Marvolo Riddle failed at, it was Flying. He couldn't fly in a straight line if his life depended on it. And he _hated_, utterly _despised_, Quidditch.

He shivered a luttle when he stood there, on the Quidditch Pitch, and looked up at the clear blue sky. The goals seemed so high... And he had to fly even above those!

There was no way he could do this.

From the stands, Ginny waved at him. She'd be the Reserve Seeker. Voldemort wanted to call her over and beg – yes, **_beg_** – her to play in his stead.

But that would be too out of character for Potter. The kid loved flying – and he happened to be good at it, too, if the cheers from the team had any truth.

Oh god.

He was going to fly.

He grasped the broom so tightly his knuckles turned white. Most of 'his' team members were already airborne, zooming around the pitch.

'Come on, Harry, get in the air!' yelled Ron from his position in front of the goalposts.

Voldemort swallowed. He was a Dark Lord, damnit, this should be easy! It was ridiculous, being afraid of heights!

Though, he had to admit, Potter's body wasn't protected by all those rituals... He could die a natural death.

He had two options: Get on that broom, and risking to get killed – or turned into a bodiless spirit again – or to remain on the ground, and risk everyone getting suspicious of him.

To fly, or not to fly. That is the question.

Of course, if he was careful, he could survive this _and_ keep his cover...

Feeling very much like a rash Gryffindor, Lord Voldemort got on his broom, and pushed the ground from under his feet.

The wind made Potters hair tickle his face and obscured his vision. Voldemort flew almost vertical, trying to get this over with as soon as possible.

Everything went well, until he dared to look down.

And saw how high he was.

How tiny the people on the stands were.

The world started to swirl around him...

And Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, the most fearsome wizard since Grindelwald, fainted.

:-:

Harry felt his mind soar. He was leaving Voldemort's body, he was travelling in the ether, the world was beaconing him...

He felt himself being pulled towards another body, but everything was hazy... He was fading...

_Blood pumping through veins... A heart beating in a fast ritm..._

For a moment he opened his eyes, and saw the ground of the quidditch pitch approaching very fast.

But before the impact, Harry felt his spirit being shoved away by another. He struggled for a moment – images fluttered by...

:-:

Voldemort became semi-awake, still in the air and falling down rapidly, when he felt someone tugging at his mind. He heightened his Occlumency, but some images still leaked through...

:-:

_Blood dribbling on the cold stone floor. The boy, he couldn't be older than five, was sitting on the bed. The man towering above him sneered. 'That's what you get when you get in my way, freak. You're weak.' The man lowered his face to the boy, catching the wide greenish eyes, darkened by pain. 'And if you tell that bitch Cole about our "weekly meetings", I'll gut you and no one will search for you. Do you understand what I'm saying, freak?'_

_The boy nodded wildly. The man hit him one more time before he left, slamming the door behind him._

'_I'm not a freak,' the boy whispered to the dark room. 'I'm special.'_

:-:

_A child sitting on the swing. Another boy pushing him off of it, and kicking him. 'That's my swing, freak!' Crawling through the sand, trying to be unnoticed, but not succeeding. A large shadow towering above him. 'Were you picking on Dudley?' _

'_No, Uncle,' the boy said softly. 'Dudley pushed me –'_

'_Dudley wouldn't do a thing like that! You were on his swing, weren't you? How many times do I have to tell you, you're not allowed on it!'_

_A meek answer. 'Yes, Uncle Vernon.'_

'_You don't touch Dudley's stuff, are we clear? Now inside, Petunia wants you to do the dishes.'_

'_But why can't I -'_

'_NO QUESTIONS!' A hand connecting to flesh. The boy bit on his lip to refrain from crying. He touched his red cheek gingerly._

'_Now get inside!'_

'_Yes, Uncle Vernon.'_

:-:

_:'Stupid humansss, always making so much noise...':_

_The slow beatings of the waves against the rocks. Slipping away from the groups, following a strange hissing voice that seemed to come from the cave, three metres away._

_In the Darkness, the voice continued. _

_:'I smell something... Ah, a human child... What does he want? Go away!':_

_:'I'm sorry,': the boy said, unknowingly hissing. :'I didn't want to disturb –':_

_From the darkness, a small serpent slithered. It tasted the air. :'A Speaker?':_

'_You really are a freak!' gasped another voice. A girl and a boy had followed him into the cave. _

'_Go away, Dennis, Amy.'_

_The other boy – Dennis – stared at the snake for a moment. 'What were those hissing noises?'_

'_I was just talking.'_

'_To – to the snake? You're insane!'_

'_I'm not!'_

'_You are! They should put you in a asylum – they will, when I tell them about this –'_

'_NO!' The first boy yelled;, fear in his eyes. 'If you do that – I'll, I'll do the same to you as I did to Billy's rabbit! Or worse!'_

_The girl started to turn, to run away, but in a flash the snake had slithered around her ancles. She started to cry. 'Get that snake away from me! Please, Tom, please –'_

'_If you move, it will kill you,' the dark eyes of the boy gleamed in a way that suggested he liked her begging. 'I don't want any of you to talk about what happened in this cave, or I'll kill you. I will.'_

_They believed him._

:-:

_The seven-year-old boy had to get some of Dudley's toys from the attic, because the other boy wanted them suddenly. Dusty and with cobwebs in his hair, he climbed the stairs, the heavy box in his arms. From nowhere a foot appeared, making him trip. He fell hard off the stairs, toys scattered everywhere._

_His arm hurt terribly. He couldn't move it anymore. The skinny woman came to see what all that ruckus was about. 'Oh, how dare you drop all Duddikins' toys! You're going to put them all back into the box!'_

'_My arm hurts, Aunt Petunia.'_

'_I don't care. Get to work.'_

_It was the next day, when he went to school, that his teacher discovered his arm was broken._

:-:

_He smiled at the objects in his box. They were his most prized possessions. To another they would seem just trinkets, but to him they were treasures. It had taken a lot of lying and sneakiness to obtain them, and now they were his. The only things that were really his._

_For now, at least. They didn't get much pocket money, but he'd been saving his to buy a diary or something like that, for when he would go to school. _

_Usually, one of the older kids took his pocket money, but after the 'incidents' no one dared to anymore._

_He smiled at the yo-yo, stolen from the boy who always tried to push him down the stairs. He wouldn't do that any longer._

_The silver thimble, picked from the pockets of the girl that destroyed his favourite book – the first thing he'd bought with his own money._

_And the harmonica, taken from the dirty man that had been visiting him weekly since he was four, without ever being noticed by Mrs. Cole. The man who had gradually hurt him more and more, for his own perverse pleasure._

_To someone else, the harmonica would seem a little rusty at one side, but he knew it wasn't rust._

_That man wouldn't hurt him any longer. He'd made sure of that._

:-:

_It was lonely, in the cupboard. And dark. His head hurt because Uncle Vernon hit him when he'd dropped the slippery pan._

_There were spiders everywhere. His only friends._

_Them, and the Darkness._

:-:

Voldemort opened his eyes slowly. The white ceiling of the Infirmary greeted him. He tried to shake his head to clear it from the strange memories, but found out that that was a bad idea. If felt like someone had locked Bludgers in his skull.

'Harry? Are you awake?' A voice drifted by. He blinked slowly.

'Was it your scar, Harry? Was it Voldemort?' another voice asked. Voldemort tried to nod, but blackness overtook him.

:-:

Harry was less than happy to find himself still in Voldemort's body, and with a huge headache. He sat upright and tried to sort through the images he'd seen. Had it been Voldemort's memories? Probably...

And the ritual hadn't worked. That meant he had to go back to the library, to keep searching.

How wonderful.

o00000000o

Voldemort woke up in the Infirmary. The Medi-witch immediatly popped up at his bedside.

'How do you manage to get yourself in this kind of situations, Mr Potter? Honestly, I've never seen a student in here as often as you are.'

Through his pounding headache, Voldemort recognized the witch. She was a second year when he graduated, he remembered. Noisy little Huffelpuf, always hanging around in the Infirmary and helping her mum, who was the nurse at that time.

'Mr Potter, do you understand me? That was quite a fall, you're lucky you didn't break anything. Except your broom, that is.'

'Oh.' Voldemort blinked. Just the broom. 'Can I go now?'

'Don't be so hasty! Before you know, you're in here again. Such a nasty business, Quidditch...' She glanced at the door. 'The Headmaster wishes to speak with you. When you feel dizzy or tired, just tell me, okay? Oh, you probably have a headache. Yes, I'll fetch you a potion.'

Dumbledore appeared as soon as she left his bedside. His eyes didn't twinkle.

'Have you had a vision, Harry?'

Voldemort caught his eyes, keeping his Occlumency shield up and his eyes innocent. 'No, sir. It didn't get through my Occlumency. But the Dark Lord must have done something, because my scar suddenly hurt so much I fainted.' He faked an embarressed look. 'I hope nobody thinks I'm afraid of heights now.'

Dumbledore's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. 'Indeed. Well, Harry, I want you to promise me something.'

'Depends on what it is, professor,' he smiled non-comittaly.

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. 'Yesterday evening, Death Eaters captured Miss Weasley. The Order is doing everything we can to bring her back, but you must promise me, Harry, that you won't go looking for her. It's exactly what Voldemort expects, and –'

Voldemort interrupted him. 'I understand.' He shrugged. 'I promise not to try and find her. I know it's a trap. It won't work.'

Dumbledore seemed at a loss for words. 'Very well. Rest assured that I'm doing everything I can to bring Miss Weasley back, Harry.'

Voldemort shrugged again. 'I know.'

It was a puzzled looking Dumbledore who left the Infirmary that day.

Oo0oo


	6. Forgiveness for the things

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all.

**Walk in my shoes (5)**

**5. Forgiveness for the things I do**

Voldemort was greeted by a worried Hermione when he entered the Common Room, and she immediatly dragged him to a dark corner. In the relative privacy, a redhead waited. Ron. The Weasley boy was as pale as chalk, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes. He was clearly very worried about his sister.

'Harry, I'm sorry,' he started his plee, 'I really am. I want to make it up to you – if you want to study so much, I won't complain anymore, promised. But please – we have to get Ginny back!'

Hermione seemed uncomfortable. 'I overheard the Order talking. They have no clue of the whereabouts of Ginny. But perhaps... with your link to Voldemort...'

'Please bring her back, Harry. You're the only one who can. Please.'

Voldemort was flabbergasted. With an icy voice he said: 'You want me to risk my life for your sister. You want me to go to someone who will surely kill me as soon as he sees me, to save your sister.'

'Yes! You've done it before, I don't see why –'

'I don't want to be a hero, you idiot! I'm not! I haven't got any super powers or any special kind of magic!'

'You've beaten You-Know-Who before!'

'I was lucky, that's all!' Voldemort glared at them, furiously. 'If you want to get her back, do it yourself. I'm not risking my life again. Besides, I promised Dumbledore.'

Ron shook his head. 'You're not Harry,' he said, shakily. 'Harry would go and save her.'

'In that case,' Voldemort spat, 'I don't _want_ to be Harry.'

Hermione bit her lip. 'But Voldemort will kill her!'

He stood up from his seat, and glared at Potter's "friends". 'You should have thought about that before you let her get herself kipnapped. Goodnight. I'm going to bed.'

:-:

Nagini slithered through the door, leading two masked Death Eaters inside Voldemort's private chambers. Harry glanced up from the book he was reading, and froze.

The two Death Eaters held a shivering Ginny between them.

Her cloak was torn and she was crying. Her hair was a mess and she struggled, clearly trying to escape. Bruises and shallow cuts covered her skin.

She glanced up at him, and gasped. Harry's heart broke to see her so fearful of him. Then he remembered who's body he inhabited, and realised she actually had a good reason to be scared.

Harry fumed inwardly. How dare they capture Ginny!

He narrowed his eyes, and glared at the Death Eaters. 'What iss thiss?'

'We captured Ginevra Weasley for you, My Lord,' came Malfoy's voice from behind one of the masks. He sounded proud and gleeful. 'The plan –'

'I am very displeased, Lucius.' Harry warned him.

Malfoy stuttered. 'But m-my Lord, you said yourself –'

'Don't argue with me. Crucio.' Everytime he cast it, it seemed to be easier than the time before. Of course, a Malfoy shaking and crying out was a very amusing sight.

Uh-oh. He was starting to think like Voldemort...

He swiftly ended the curse. 'I hope you will learn from your mistakes, Lucius. I would hate it if I had to kill you.'

The other Death Eater softly cleared his throat. Harry recognized Snape's voice.

'My Lord, if the presence of the girl offends you, please allow me to escort her to the dungeons...'

Harry looked him in the eye. It was hard, with that annoying mask and all that, but he had to try and get the message through.

'Yes, bring her back where she belongs... You are dismissed.' He glared at Malfoy once more. 'And Lucius... Next time, don't annoy me so much.'

'Of course, my Lord. My sincere apologies.'

They left, and Harry sighed. :'I'm not sure about this, Nagini. Would you please check in a few hours if Ginny is set free? I'm not sure Snape understood what I meant...':

:'Don't worry, Harry. It'll be fine.':

**ooo0ooo**

The Common Room erupted in cheers when McGonnagal informed them Mss Weasley was back, relatively unharmed. Ron was so relieved he didn't even notice "Harry's" worried look.

Had Harry Potter revealed himself to the Weasley girl? It was obvious he had saved her... And how to get her to trust him without revealing himself to be Harry-trapped-in-Voldemort's-body? In that case, it would be easy for the girl to realise who inhabited Potter's body... And she'd tell Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who was already doubting his Golden Boy.

Bloody hell. He could expect the Headmaster to barge in any moment now, casting a quick Avada and finishing him off without any trouble at all. Sure, there was a fifty percent chance that he would keep on living as a powerless ghost, like the first time, but he'd rather not risk it.

He had to talk to the Weasley girl. Find out how much she knew, and what she had told everyone.

He followed Ron and Hermione to the Infirmary, thinking about a way to talk to the Weasley girl alone.

Ron was revieled to see his sister with only a few bruises. She smiled at them. 'Hi, guys.'

'Are you okay? How did they get you? How did you escape? Are you sure you're okay now? What did they do to you?'

'Whoa, calm down, Ron. Yes, I'm fine now. I'm still a little jumpy, but that's normal. It's not everyday I get kipnapped by Death Eaters. As to how they got me, well... I've been stupid. I was walking around the lake when I saw dad coming. He said something had happened and he should take me to the Burrow. He was acting so odd, I don't know why I didn't realise – well, stupid little me followed him. He takes me to this really creepy castle, and grabs me. Turns out he was Lucius Malfoy, polyjuiced.' She took a deep breath. 'I was taken to V-v-voldemort.'

Ron turned pale and hissed: 'Don't say his name!'

Hermione swatted at him. 'Don't be so foolish. Harry says it all the time, you should be used to it by now. It's just a name. A silly one, even. It's French for "flight from death".'

Voldemort was a tad miffled to hear the Mudblood mocking his name.

Ginny continued. 'Well... he wasn't happy. Malfoy asked why, because apparently they had some kind of plan, and V-voldemort put Crucio on him and ordered Snape to "put me where I belonged".'

Well, well, well. He hadn't thought Potter had it in him.

'Snape! That greasy bastard with his –'

'Ron! Snape saved me!'

Ron blushed a bit. 'Oh. Sorry. I didn't expect Creepy Crawly Guy to do something like that. Still, he's a bastard.'

'It doesn't matter what he is, I'm just happy he got me out of there before V-v-voldemort changed his mind and cursed _me_.'

Voldemort couldn't be more relieved. Potter hadn't revealed himself, and Voldemort was safe from revenge-seaking old wizards – for now.

After being ushered out of the Infirmary by the nurse, Ron rounded on Voldemort.

'You may think I'll forgive you now, but I don't. My sister shouldn't be indebted to Snivellus. It should have been you who saved her. It should have been Harry. Which you're not.'

Voldemort frowned. 'What are you babbling about?'

Ron shook his head at him. 'You're not Harry. I'm sure of it, and I'll find a way to prove it.'

'Have you spent to much time in the old Divination classroom again?'

'Shut up!' Ron turned around, and walked away with angry steps.

Hermione looked at Voldemort. 'He's right,' she whispered. 'You're not Harry.'

'If I'm not Harry, then who am I?' he countered.

She just smiled sadly. 'You know who you are. And soon I will know it too. Because I will research every single thing that may give a clue, and when I've got the proof needed, Dumbledore will be told.'

'Great. Just perfect. You're all barking mad.'

:-:

Severus Snape was not a happy man. When his Mark started to burn, real, utter terror had filled his heart. He just knew he was going to be killed. Hopefully it would be a quick death. He doubted it, though. Traitors died the worst way.

He shouldn't have rescued the Weasley girl. It had been too risky, especially after Voldemort had assigned him to put her back into the dungeons. But Weasley was a student, damnit, and he was supposed to protect students! With the meager information he managed to bring the Order, what kind of spy was he if he couldn't even save someone?

Useless. He had called Black useless, and now his words came back to haunt him.

He had been reckless, giving the Weasley girl a Portkey and getting her past the wards. There was a big chance someone had seen them. The Dark Lord would not be pleased.

When he was a teenager, Severus had been so miserable he had tried to kill himself. Then the Death Eaters came with their offer. When he realised what exactly the Death Eaters stood for, he had tried to kill himself – again. Dumbledore offered another way out. And Severus had taken it, because he knew he would get murdered when he was found out, and it would make everything so much easier...

He never could do it himself. He'd tried. The knife shook too much to cut deep enough, he couldn't manage to swallow the poison, the rope turned to ash because of an uncontrolled magic burst. And no matter how easy he could Avada someone, he couldn't perform it on himself. Unconciously he didn't want to die, not really. He was a survivor, Severus Snape, and survivors do exactly that. They survive.

Until now. He was sure of it. His Mark burned, his fate was sealed. He took a long shower, ignoring the painful burning. Casting a quick drying spell on his hair, he donned his best robes. The mask he left in his rooms. He didn't want to die a Death Eater. If he was going down, he wanted to look his best.

He didn't hesitate when he placed the letter containing his last will on his desk, and fired the warning spell to Dumbledore, to inform him he was leaving for a meeting.

He took one last look around his rooms, and left.

:-:

Harry had to wait a long time before Snape finally arrived. He frowned at the man. Snape wasn't wearing his mask, or his Death Eater robes. He was clad in a dark green, almost black robe with silver trimmings. His hair looked soft, as if it had been washed.

Wait a minute. Washed? Snape? Hair? Those three words never, ever belonged a a sentence without the addition of the word "never". What was going on in here?

Back to business.

'Snape, there is something I require of you.' He waved his wand lazily, and a piece of paper fluttered to Snape's hands. 'This is the recipe of a potion I am in need of. Have it ready for me tomorrow.'

It was the recipe for a very Dark potion against possession. Harry saw Snape frowning, wondering why the Dark Lord would need a thing like this. Harry gestured lightly with his hand. 'You are dismissed.'

He noticed Snape's confusion, but ignored it. He just had to do as ordered. How difficult could that be?

**o00000000o**

The potion didn't work. It was the Darkest, deepest magic, forbidden because it literally _ripped_ the invasive soul out of the host's body, and it _didn't work_.

There was another way, though. Harry felt it. The _Necronomicon._

If there was a solution, he would find it in that black book.

There was only one little problem. The few chapters of the _Necronomicon_ that were written in English, talked about concepts Harry'd never heard of. He felt like a ten year old Muggle who was reading about Einstein's theory of relativity.

It was obvious what he had to do, really. Get someone who understood these complicated magical concepts.

Voldemort.

It was time to pay Hogwarts a little visit.

:-:

Voldemort turned the page of one of the books he had nicked from the Restricted Section. It had looked so promising... But is was useless. Garbage. Crap.

Angrily he waved his wand, and the book combusted in little purple flames.

'That was a Dark spell!' Someone gasped behind him. Hermione had just entered his dormitory. 'Library books are protected, only very Dark spells can destroy them!'

Why did the girl always have to disturb his privacy? He didn't barge into the girl's room when she was studying, did he?

'So? What are you going to do against it? Besides, it's just a book.'

Hermione frowned. A silent Legilimens told Voldemort she was planning on going to the Headmaster, telling him about her worries.

No, that could not do. He narrowed his eyes, preparing to cast a spell.

Suddenly her eyes went wide. 'I know who you are! Oh, it's so obvious!'

'Is it now?'

'Yes! You're Tom Riddle! You're V-Voldemort!'

'_Obliviate!'_

He couldn't keep doing this. There had to be a way to get back in his own body.

:-:

Harry looked down at the Death Eaters, feeling very much the Dark Lord he appeared to be.

'Everyone knows his or her task? Good. Remember, only Stunning, no killing. We have to get into the Great Hall, then I'll deal with it.'

They would use the entrance at Honeydukes. With a bit of luck he would be in the Great Hall before anyone realised there were Death Eaters at Hogwarts. They would arrive at dinner, where Voldemort would hopefully be present.

Harry didn't doubt everything would go exactly as planned. Most of it depended on shere luck, after all. And luck, ladies and gentlemen, was something Harry Potter had plenty of.

**o00000000o**


	7. The Scapegoat Fate’s made of me

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all.

Warning: Spoilers for everything but HBP.

**Walk in my shoes (6)**

**6. The Scapegoat Fate's made of me**

Halloween. The Great Hall was filled with hovering pumpkins and bats, the tables were invisible underneath the sweets and desserts. All students were talking animatedly, enjoying the holiday.

Voldemort sat sullen at the Gryffindor table, stabbing his pudding with his spoon. He hated holidays, and Halloween the most. It had never been a good day for Voldemort. Children's laughter, the nights filled with people partying – even Muggles, dressing up as wizards and witches! It was outrageous! – and all those ridiculous pumpkins...

Oh, and being turned into a powerless spirit by an one year old baby had something to do with it too.

Two months had it been. Two months of taking classes, two months of pretending to be a Gryffindor, two months as being Harry bloody Potter. And he still had no clue how to get his proper body back. Meanwhile, Potter was ruining his reputation by holding no Death Eater meetings and torturing very little. Voldemort wondered if the Boy-Who-Lived had been killed already by his Death Eaters. Perhaps Lucius had taken control now? Malfoy had always been bad at hiding his ambitions...

While pondering this, Voldemort didn't notice the sudden screams coming from the Entrance Hall. Dumbledore did, however, and he recognized the voices of the portraits. He rose to his feet, taking his wand, but before he could order the students to leave the doors banged open.

The Dark Lord strolled inside, calmly, as if he was just taking a walk around the park. His Death Eaters flanked him, their wands at the ready. One of them was fighting with one of Hogwart's armours.

The students screamed. Some of them, members of the DA, got to their feet like the staff and pulled their wands. But before anyone could do anything, the Dark Lord had his wand pointed at them, his hissing voice making people shiver. "Stupefy Omnium."

Everyone stilled, caught in the spell. They could only watch how the Dark Lord walked to the Gryffindor table.

Of the staff, only Dumbledore was powerful enough to shake off the spell. He pointed his wand at the Dark Lord, and a spell burst out.

The Dark Lord only flicked his wand, blocking the spell with ease. Dumbledore was now very worried. In the Ministry Battle, Voldemort had to use a strong Shield Charm. Now he waved the attack away as if it was nothing. Had he grown so much in strenght?

The Dark Lord blocked each and every spell Dumbledore shot at him, without even slowing down his steps. He came to a halt in front of Harry's seat. The Dumbledore paled even more. Harry hadn't even moved from his seat, and now Voldemort would kill him, and all would be lost...

Suddenly Harry Potter stood from his seat. He turned around, and looked Voldemort in the eye.

"Harry," he greeted the Dark Lord. "How nice to see you."

"Voldemort," the Dark Lord nodded. "Too bad I can't say the same. I merely sought you out because of this little problem we both have."

The Death Eaters blinked, wondering what the hell was going on. Dumbledore froze in his seat. Why did Harry call the Dark Lord Harry? Could it...?

The pieces fell into place. All those little things Dumbledore had noticed in the past two months suddenly added up.

"If you think I can help you with that, stop hoping. I'm as clueless as you," Voldemort, caught in Harry Potter's body, answered.

Harry stretched Voldemort's face into a smile. "Then it is a good thing I'm not entirely clueless, eh?"

Voldemort looked up. "You know a way to get us back into the right body?"

"No. But I do know where we could _find_ a way. At least, if you agree to work with me."

"_Anything_, Potter, to get my body back. I'm sick of posing as a Gryffindor."

Harry smiled again. "Brilliant."

Voldemort frowned. "Before we leave, you must tell me how you got into Hogwarts without the wards ripping you to shreds."

"Well... Not wishing harm to the students must have helped, you know. And besides, Hogwarts likes me." A shrug and an innocent smile, completely out of place on Voldemort's face. "What can I say... I'm Harry Potter."

"Harry," Dumbledore called from the Head Table. He looked deeply into the red eyes. "Are you sure of this? I'm sure we can find a way, you don't have to go with him –"

"No, Headmaster. I do have to go with him. Believe me, I've searched _everywhere_, and the only answer lies in the Dark Arts." Harry smiled again. "And it's not as if I'm going around killing people, you know. Knowledge isn't a bad thing. It's all about the way you use it."

"Lift the spell that keeps everyone immobile and let me keep Voldemort prisoner. As soon as you're switched, you can fulfill the profecy," Dumbledore tried again.

But Harry would hear none of it. "No, professor. That wouldn't be fair, you know? He didn't bring my body the the Death Eaters, and he gave me my wand back in that little duel after the TriWizard Tournament - how awful it was."

Voldemort was silent for a moment. "You think I deserve to be treated fairly?"

"Sure. You only need to tone down the killing. It's really bad for your public relations."

"You're an idiot," Voldemort informed him. "And how did you get so powerful?"

"I picked up a few things while searching for that cure." Harry turned to his friends. First he looked at Ginny. "I'm sorry for those idiots catching you. Did get Snape to bring you back here, though." Then he smiled at his two best friends. "I really missed you guys. It can take a while to reverse this body-switch, but don't worry. As soon as everything is back in order I'll come back, okay? And I'll tell you _everything_."

He smiled one last time, and walked past the dazed Death Eaters, side by side with Voldemort. The moment they stepped out of the Hall, everyone could move again.

Snape banged his head on the table. Some teachers tried to catch the fleeing Death Eaters. Students screamed, or stared in the distance, thunderstruck.

Dumbledore watched the doors Harry and his nemesis had just disappeared behind, and wondered if he would ever see him again.

_Or,_ he thought, _perhaps profecies were all just rubbish, really._

**o00000000o**


	8. Walking in your shoes

Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns all.

Warning: Spoilers for everything but HBP.

**Walk in my shoes (Epilogue)**

**Epilogue: Walking in Your Shoes**

Voldemort and Harry Apparated to the front gates of Slytherin Castle. Apparation was one of the things Harry'd been most eager to learn, now he'd had the chance.

The silence was rather uncomfortable. What did one say to one's mortal-enemy-turned-ally?

"So..." Harry started, a bit uncertain. "You and Bellatrix, huh?"

Voldemort glared at him. Harry ignored it.

"She's... not too bad, I guess. I hate her guts, but since she's the cause of Sirius' demise, I admit my opinion may be a bit biased."

"Potter, are you trying to make small talk with _me_?"

"Yup. 's not as if you could hurt me for trying, you know. I've found a lot of interesting information when I researched our little problem."

There was a bit of a threat in the tone. Voldemort recognized it easily in his own voice, and prompty decided to play nice for the time being. Potter surely seemed a lot more powerful than he used to be. And he happened to be the one in the nearly-immortal body, at the moment.

They entered the castle, and Harry set out to the private library.

"By the way, Voldemort, call me Harry. You didn't seem to have a problem with my name at Hogwarts, and since we got to know eachother's lives so intimately... I suppose you _did_ shower occasionally, yes?"

"It was a traumatic experience. And your hormonal urges were even worse."

Harry grimaced. "I really didn't need to know that. Do us both a favor, Voldemort, and don't tell me what you did with my body during these last two months. Please."

"Don't worry, _Harry,_ I have no wish to relive those experiences. Which reminds me, exactly _how_ did you find out about Bella's infatuation with me?"

Harry blushed, which looked really odd on Voldemorts gaunt face. "Don't ask. I'm trying to forget it ever happened."

"Still in denial, I see?" Voldemort sniggered. He usually preferred cackling, but he had soon found out Potter's body couldn't cackle properly. "My dearest Bella isn't one to give up easily. I have to change the locks on my door every evening, she always figures them out. She used to be a genius at ward-breaking, but Azkaban messed her up to much to do the big work."

"You changed your locks every evening? Why didn't you just switch to the other bedroom? And why would you want to keep her out, actually? She's no Miss World, but it's not as if you've got much choice, right? It looks as if you're trying to _scare _Death away with your looks."

Voldemort glared. "Very funny, Harry. If you're forgetting something, please look into the mirror to see who is currently inhabiting the 'scary' body?" A small silence. "Besides, Bella's attentions are all part of a huge misunderstanding. It's a long story. You don't want to hear it."

"I _do _want to hear-"

"No, you really don't. Believe me. You don't."

They arrived at the library. Harry hissed the password and went inside.

Voldemort took a seat in front of the fire, which lept into flames when he waved Potter's wand at it. "I admit to being surprised how well you managed to conceal our...little problem."

"Nagini helped me," Harry said, lifting the Necronomicon from its hide-out on one of the shelves. "You know, Voldemort, we're going to have to work together for this. You do realise that, right? But before we're going to do that, we need to set some rules."

"Rules?" Voldemort nearly growled. "Why?"

"I don't want you murdering anyone, or cursing anyone but your Death Eaters. They signed up for this, so it's their problem, but honestly, there are better ways to gain control of the wizarding world than killing and torturing everyone." Harry smiled. "I think the laws on Dark Magic should be less strict. I think Muggle-borns should be given some kind of course before they're admitted to Hogwarts, to help them adjust to the Wizarding World. Dark Creatures should be handled with care, but not so hunted and ostracized as they are right now. I believe these three things were part of your original plans too, right?"

"When I first started the Death Eaters, yes. But Salazar Slytherin-"

"Slytherin lived in a time were Muggles hated the magical world. Now Muggles think magic is cool. They're not burning witches anymore. Anyway, if you're going to kill all muggle-borns, magic will die out becose of too much inbreeding. Just look at the family your mother came from. Hell, just look at the Malfoys! It's not healthy to be that pale."

Voldemort glared. "I hate the fact you sound so reasonable."

"Get used to it. Until we've fixed our problem, I'm going to be acting as your conscience. You're not getting rid of me."

The Dark Lord raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were against torture?"

Harry grinned. "Try to see it from my side, Voldemort. You're stuck with me, but I'm stuck with _you_. Try walking in _m_y shoes."

**The Very Definite End**

**o00000000o**

_**A N: Arghh! Why do I get inspi for stuff when I'm busy with other things? It's horrible, I tell you. Since everyone was complaining about the ending, I added this little epilogue. I know, it's way too short and I don't like it. It's OOC. I'm tired and have inspiration for a lot of stuff to add to this, but it would complety mess up the flow of the story.**_

_**Sigh. I'll have to make a sequel, one day... When 'Innocence' is finished.**_


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